The baby stuff has been piling up in our attic since we
moved in. I’ve passed some stuff
along here and there, but otherwise have been reluctant to unload the bulk of
it so far. I chose to look at the
yard sale as motivation to free up space and get over what’s left of my
lingering sadness over not having any more babies.
I have to point out that I’m not a pack rat. After moving countless times growing up
I am very accustomed to getting rid of, well, pretty much everything. There are a few items that have made it
through the many moves, but for the most part I do not get sentimental over
“stuff.”
That is, until I had kids. I don’t know what the hell happens in your body after having
children but I transformed from someone who rarely cried at movies, someone who
didn’t dissolve into teary-eyed nostalgia over anything, really … into someone
that can barely keep it together looking at an outfit Eli wore as a baby, or at
a maternity t-shirt I wore, or at photos of either of the kids right after they
were born, or some dumb-ass commercial that’s supposed to make you laugh.
Just this morning I went into Sophie’s room and saw that Eli
had set the couch out from her little dollhouse and set the Mama and Papa bear
together on the couch. It was so
cute I nearly started bawling when I looked at it. Seriously? What
is wrong with me?
So it shouldn’t have surprised me that I would have a
difficult time getting rid of things.
No, that’s not true. I
would say that 90% of the stuff was easy to part with. But that other 10%...
I have a bin of clothes/shoes/etc. containing baby things
that I won’t get rid of. I’ve
always known I would do that. A
couple outfits and the like to show the kids when they get older, to pass along
to them if they have kids (or if they don’t). That stuff makes sense to me.
But then there are my maternity clothes. Most of them I cannot get rid of fast
enough. Tried as I might to find
maternity clothes that were flattering (an oxymoron if there ever was one) or
that were at least “me” was more challenging that I had anticipated. As a result, I hated at least half my
maternity clothes with a passion.
However, as I sorted through the box of clothes there were a
few items I just couldn’t put in the “sell” pile. My favorite jeans.
The t-shirt I wore when Vinny photographed me, two days before I went
into labor with Eli. The tank top
that kept me from having a heat stroke during the summer months. The clothes that kept me feeling like
myself, the clothes I was so happy to be pregnant in. The clothes that remind me of the sheer joy of being
pregnant, remembering what it was like to carry both of my children around in
my belly.
Some days, it feels like a lifetime ago that I was
pregnant. It’s hard to believe
it’s only been a little over a year.
I can’t let go of the memories those clothes stir up,
yet. They are still too near and
dear to my heart.
So even though my upbringing equipped me with a “you don’t
need that” attitude that I have carried into adulthood, there are moments when
I can’t part with “things.”
I’m okay with this.
I’m sure as time passes it will be easier to part with more of this
stuff. Maybe not. Maybe there will always be a special
box in the attic, just for me. So
I can sneak up there once in awhile and remember how happy I was growing my
children. So I can marvel over how
little my babies were when they fit into those tiny onesies (okay, who am I
kidding… neither of my children were ever tiny, but they were still
newborns).
Sometimes, we need “things” to stir memories, to take us
back to a time we are happy to re-live, to remind us of the distances we’ve
come. As time propels us forward,
pulls us further away from these treasured memories, it’s nice to have
something as simple as a t-shirt to pull me back.
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