|I'm keeping this one.|
But giving away the baby clothes ... accepting that this is it, that there aren't going to be anymore precious babies that my body somehow miraculously creates ... that is a tough pill to swallow. In the past, every time my eldest daughter moved into a new size, I packed up all of her old clothes and stored them away for our youngest. But now that our youngest is growing like a weed, there's no reason any longer to keep the old clothes, those tiny jackets and little leggings that still smell subtly of Johnson's baby lotion and Dreft. I suppose I should relish all of the new space there will be in the attic. But all I see when I look up there is emptiness, echoes in a place that used to be filled to brimming with things.
Giving away the baby clothes requires that I accept that I am also moving into a new stage, a new phase. Growing older. I suppose this should be liberating. Instead, it kind of feels like losing a limb. Those little baby bodies are the most precious things I've ever held. When they grow, your arms get lighter and your heart gets heavier. A/J