Yesterday, I broke out a few bins of old baby clothes. Each little striped footie awakened a million memories. I recall washing and folding each small onesie when I was eight months pregnant, and later, kissing each little toe before tucking it into the leg of his pajamas.
I hold up some pieces and can remember entire days with him at the zoo, or park but have no recollection of what I or anyone else was wearing.
I left my career when my son was born. It was a choice I will never regret. I couldn’t possibly leave the house even night at his bedtime to run to a local theater and make half hour call. There have been maybe ten nights that I haven’t tucked him into bed, kissed him, read to him, scratched his back and been the last voice he heard before drifting off to sleep. Motherhood has been a gift to me. One that changed me from my core and I am grateful to have this experience.
I have a friend who just had her fourth child. She would use and appreciate these things much more than my basement corner.
This is a hard one. I find I can more easily part with my own things than let go of my boy’s baby clothes. I am letting the baby clothing clear out count as my day 22 also. There was a lot to let go.
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