My mother told me this story once.
When I first arrived upon the scene, she and my father were but poor university students - so poor that they couldn't afford a washing machine for their little flat. As those were the days of cloth nappies, they instead spent hours washing my nappies in the bath, like wine makers of old, with their feet, with their vintage a clean and comfortable little daughter.
Then came the great day when they found they could at last run to a washing machine - a front loader, the type with a clear door. They were so delighted, when they put that first load of my nappies in the machine to wash, all by themselves, that they just sat and watched them, through the glass door, go around and around, cleaner and cleaner...