…saving baby stuff

Okay, I’ll donate the crib. I planned on keeping the last baby keepsakes until the youngest was driving, but he’s reached grade school and I’m ready. It’s time that I let go.

To me,
I sort through the baby detritus from infanthood and struggle to part with the stained bibs and leaky sippy cups. I’m exhuming boxes of bottles and nipples, chewed up pacifiers, stretched out plastic pants and memories. Sniff, sniff, T

Reviewing the past stirs up memories and reflection of faults and successes. There is a rededication to put things from the past into the proper perspective.

Dear me!
Twenty-five receiving blankets? Was there some reward for the biggest blanket collection? I vaguely recall those first frantic days that consumed diapers by the dozen—when blankets doubled as burp cloths and bath towels. Has anything really changed? T.

It’s gone now—the crib. I know… big mistake! I should have kept something, a crate of diapers, the four-foot-tall potty bear or the jogging stroller that in reality was mostly used to move groceries. I guess I could have kept any puerile object as insurance against accidentally repeating this whole thing.

I expect to be pregnant again tomorrow.

Reality Bite: I should be safe though because I’m still wearing all the maternity clothes.