Dear past me: The messy truth about your first body merinowolle

Tom
2026-03-23T04:49:42+01:00

You're currently standing in front of the Zanussi washing machine at three in the morning, holding what used to be a sixty-quid newborn base layer and is now a felted coaster suitable only for a rather small espresso cup. You're weeping softly into the lint trap. In the other room, the twins are orchestrating a dual meltdown because they've collectively decided that 3 AM is an entirely reasonable time for breakfast, and you're wondering if it's too late to just move to the Caribbean and raise them in nothing but nappies.

I'm writing to you from six months in the future to tell you that the financial ruin and laundry-related heartbreak of investing in merino wool baby clothes is, bafflingly, worth it.

I know you only bought them because our GP, Dr. Evans, who always looks mildly alarmed by our presence, muttered something about how infants have a totally rubbish internal thermostat and lose heat faster than a damp paper towel in a draught. You nodded enthusiastically, pretending you understood the mechanics of microscopic air pockets trapping body heat, and then you immediately went online and spent our monthly grocery budget on tiny, ultra-soft sheep garments.

The great biological detergent massacre of November

Let's address the tragedy you're currently holding in your hand. You assumed that because a baby garment is covered in what we shall politely call a catastrophic biological event, it requires the strongest biological washing powder Tesco has to offer.

I need you to understand that biological detergents contain enzymes designed to break down proteins, which is brilliant if you're trying to remove egg yolk from a normal shirt, but absolutely devastating when you realise that wool is literally just animal protein. You basically threw that expensive merino layer into a chemical acid bath that ate the actual fibres of the fabric while you were blissfully making a cup of tea in the kitchen. The shrinkage wasn't an accident of temperature; it was a microscopic massacre.

From tomorrow onwards, you'll develop a deeply unhinged relationship with specialist wool detergents that contain no enzymes or bleach, treating the bottle with the kind of reverence usually reserved for vintage wine, though you'll still inevitably find yourself hand-washing these delicate items in the bathroom sink while re-evaluating every life choice that led you here.

Scratchy myths and microscopic measurements

You spent three days worrying that putting wool directly against the girls' delicate skin would result in a rash so severe it would warrant a medical journal entry. You remembered the jumpers your nan used to knit—garments so abrasive they could double as sandpaper for industrial woodworking.

I read on some late-night parenting forum that superfine merino measures about 17.5 microns in diameter, which means absolutely nothing to me other than the fact that the fibres are apparently so thin they just bend when they hit the skin instead of poking into it like tiny, itchy spears. Our paediatrician confirmed this with a vague wave of her hand, suggesting that the natural breathability actually helps prevent the flare-ups we usually get with cheaper synthetic blends that trap sweat like a greenhouse.

Someone also told me these garments naturally block UV rays, which is phenomenally useless information for a family living in a perpetually grey London winter, but I suppose it's nice to know.

Why sheep grease is currently running my life

Here's the part that's going to severely test your modern British sensibilities about hygiene. You're going to stop washing these garments every time the girls wear them.

I know this sounds like a dereliction of parental duty, but wool contains a natural waxy substance called lanolin that apparently turns the fabric into some sort of self-cleaning magical forcefield. When Twin B inevitably drools half a bottle of milk down her front, the fabric somehow absorbs a ridiculous amount of moisture without actually feeling wet, and the lanolin sets to work stopping any bacteria from throwing a party in the fibres. Instead of throwing it in the laundry basket, you'll simply hang it by the open window overnight, smelling the faint, damp scent of farmyard, only to find it completely odourless and dry by morning.

It's psychological torture to put an unwashed item of clothing back on a toddler, but you'll learn to trust the sheep grease because doing laundry for twins is a Sisyphean nightmare that you're desperately trying to escape.

Looking to upgrade your nursery survival kit without losing your mind? Take a look at the organic baby clothes collection for things that actually survive a normal wash cycle.

The cotton backups you'll desperately need

There will be days when the wool is only too compromised by sweet potato puree to be saved by an open window and a breeze. On those days, you'll panic.

This is when you'll reach for the Long Sleeve Organic Cotton Baby Bodysuit, which honestly became my absolute favourite thing only because it survives a normal 40-degree wash without turning into doll clothing. The organic cotton is still incredibly soft, but more importantly, the lap shoulders mean you can pull the entire thing down over their bodies rather than dragging a soiled neckline over their faces and through their hair (a mistake you only ever make once).

Once you've the base layer sorted, whether wool or cotton, you need to throw something over it to keep them vaguely presentable when the in-laws visit. We rely heavily on the Long Sleeve Organic Cotton Romper mostly because the three little henley buttons at the top make it incredibly easy to rip off in a hurry when someone decides to paint themselves in porridge.

We also tried layering them under this Colorful Leaves Bamboo Baby Blanket, which is perfectly lovely and very soft, though Twin A mostly uses it as a tactical drag-net to collect crumbs from beneath the sofa, so its vaunted thermoregulating properties are somewhat lost on us at this specific developmental stage.

The cost-per-wear justification gymnastics

You're going to spend an unreasonable amount of time justifying the price of these wool pieces to your mates at the pub. You will sound like a lunatic.

You'll find yourself passionately explaining that because the rib-knit wool stretches to a frankly absurd degree, Maya has been wearing the exact same base layer for five months, whereas she outgrows her high-street cotton vests in about forty-five minutes. You'll bore people to tears explaining the cost-per-wear ratio, completely ignoring the fact that you've a tiny hole near the shoulder because a moth got into the nursery wardrobe (moths, it turns out, also have expensive taste in proteins).

Just embrace it. You're now a Wool Person. You will check labels obsessively. You will stroke fabric in shops and nod knowingly. You will survive this winter, even if your bank account is slightly battered and your hands are permanently dry from hand-washing garments in the sink.

Before you throw another expensive wool piece into a biological wash, maybe stock up on some sturdy, sustainable basics from our baby apparel collection to save your sanity.

Questions I aggressively Googled at midnight

Why does my baby smell vaguely of a petting zoo when it rains?

That would be the lanolin doing its job. When natural, untreated wool gets a bit damp or warm, it releases a very faint earthy smell that reminds me of a school trip to a farm in 1998. It's totally normal and means the natural antibacterial properties haven't been stripped out by harsh chemical processing, though it does take a bit of getting used to when you're snuggling them before bed.

Can I put these things in the tumble dryer on a cold setting?

Absolutely not, unless your ultimate goal is to clothe a small Victorian porcelain doll. Agitation plus any form of mechanical drying will felt the fibres together permanently, so you just have to lay them flat on a towel over a drying rack and wait patiently while praying the baby doesn't have a blowout in their backup outfit.

Are the silk-blend versions seriously worth the extra money?

My GP mentioned that adding silk to the wool creates an even smoother surface for babies with severe eczema, and honestly, the 70/30 wool-silk blends do feel significantly cooler to the touch. They're brilliant for the weird transitional British weather in spring when it's freezing in the shade but boiling in the sun, though they're even more delicate to wash, which is a terrifying prospect.

Do I really need a wrap-style closure for a newborn?

If you enjoy the sensation of trying to force a fragile, wobbly melon through a surprisingly tight elastic band while the melon screams at you, then no, stick to standard pullovers. But the wrap styles (or wickelbodys, as the incredibly sensible Germans call them) let you just lay the baby down and fold the fabric around them like a tiny, angry burrito, which is vastly superior for everyone's blood pressure.

How often should I genuinely be washing this stuff?

If there's no visible bodily fluid on it, leave it alone. I know every fibre of your modern, hygiene-obsessed being wants to wash it after one wear, but just hang it over the back of a chair near an open window overnight and it'll magically refresh itself, saving you both time and the sheer terror of facing the washing machine.