I am a big, big baby.
But let me begin at, well, the beginning.
I come from a long line of pack-rats. My mother's favorite thing to tell me and my sisters is that when she dies only we are allowed to look carefully through everything she has saved and divide everything between us fairly. We have already told her that when she dies we are throwing everything into the trash. Seriously, we're not being mean, we're being realistic. My mom keeps a lot of...NOTHING!
Anyway, I should actually thank my mom and grandma because if it wasn't for them I don't know that I would be so determined NOT to save every single scrap of paper, article of clothing, or odd and end that comes my way. And so when we found out that our last child would be a boy, I knew the time had come to part ways with all our storage bins filled with baby girl items.
The task seemed easy enough. Lug it in, open it, sort it, bag it, and heave it off the property. I have plenty of young sister-in-laws to pass things down to, so it was easy to see that all these items would go to a good home.
But when push came to shove, and I had un-earthed all the dainty dresses and teeny-tiny flower print onsies...
But let me begin at, well, the beginning.
I come from a long line of pack-rats. My mother's favorite thing to tell me and my sisters is that when she dies only we are allowed to look carefully through everything she has saved and divide everything between us fairly. We have already told her that when she dies we are throwing everything into the trash. Seriously, we're not being mean, we're being realistic. My mom keeps a lot of...NOTHING!
Anyway, I should actually thank my mom and grandma because if it wasn't for them I don't know that I would be so determined NOT to save every single scrap of paper, article of clothing, or odd and end that comes my way. And so when we found out that our last child would be a boy, I knew the time had come to part ways with all our storage bins filled with baby girl items.
The task seemed easy enough. Lug it in, open it, sort it, bag it, and heave it off the property. I have plenty of young sister-in-laws to pass things down to, so it was easy to see that all these items would go to a good home.
But when push came to shove, and I had un-earthed all the dainty dresses and teeny-tiny flower print onsies...
well,
I fell apart.
One by one my sweet husband, my girls, and my son stepped over piles of baby clothes to give me hugs and kisses.
They let me have my moment...
to remember...
Each of my daughters was kind enough to stand while holding a former piece of clothing they used to wear. Owen, not wanting to be left out, posed as well.
Iris couldn't stop exclaiming over the tiny hats, and wanted to wear the cap she came home in from the hospital! It still fit-sort of!
I am so grateful for memories, photos, journals, and for this blog.
I'm grateful for my children. When I look at them now, I can see the many days of yesterday, when they were so unbelievably small, and yet I can also see what I hope to be the many days of tomorrow, when they will be big, and mothers and fathers of their own families.
Being a mom is a blessing.
It sure does come with a lot of tears!
But I'm not complaining.
I'm grateful for my children. When I look at them now, I can see the many days of yesterday, when they were so unbelievably small, and yet I can also see what I hope to be the many days of tomorrow, when they will be big, and mothers and fathers of their own families.
Being a mom is a blessing.
It sure does come with a lot of tears!
But I'm not complaining.