Boxes and totes overflow in my spare bedroom. The mountains of baby clothing are interspersed with hills of baby gear, outgrown and now ready for a new life in the attic.
I’m supposed to go through this mess and start donating, but I’m not ready.
We’ve had dozens of conversations about what comes next. Will there be more? Is our family complete? But I’m not ready to close the door on the massive family I’ve always dreamed of, even as the calendar counts on and life gets in the way again and again.
I’m not ready to fold those little onesies and ball up the newborn socks, those small reminders of how tiny her feet were when she first joined us. Even as her toddle is becoming a real walk, and we buy her a first pair of real shoes, I can’t imagine packing away the baby booties, maybe forever.
Was it this hard with her brother? His clothes and toys mix with hers, remnants of the mad search for items suitable for my second, which took place with me on bed rest and unable to move boxes myself. But I’m not ready to clear the clutter that has built as old clothes return, accompanied by new frilly pink attire, worn maybe once. Where did the time go?
People often ask me if we are done; if I’m excited that we get to sleep through the night again; if I’m happy to have more freedom; if I’m glad to have the long days of eat, poop, sleep behind me, maybe for good. I’m not ready to answer. I’m not even ready to contemplate it.
I’m paralyzed, stuck between our family’s past and infinite possibilities for the future; all. At the same time, reality drags me too fast, pulling me by my arm into the next day, the following year, and the next chapter of our family’s life.
I can’t decide what I want that to look like, so I focus on work, on hobbies, and on filling my time to avoid the despair that comes with reflecting on the fact that my baby isn’t a baby anymore and she might be my last.
Did I relish the mundane moments enough? The size of her toes? How soft her hair was? The way she wanted nothing more than to be held? Her little, perfect noises? Those memories are hazy for her brother. I can’t let her’s slip, too. But I could never relish them enough. If only I could freeze those moments in more than photos and video.
