Behold, part of the reason for The Cranky of the last few days. It took me a while to realize WHY exactly, these extra [six loads that needed to be washed twice because of the Storage Funk Smell] bits of fabric bothered me.
I’ve schlepped those baby clothes from Florida to Arkansas, and back to North Carolina. Some of them have come from closely-distant relatives in Michigan. When Daniel and then Joe outgrew them, I put them in boxes, in preparation for The Next Baby in Our Family.
It’s four+ years later now, and I’ve a classmate with a baby. They’re newlyweds, just starting out, and don’t have family nearby. Obviously, she could use these clothes a lot more than I can.
I wasn’t expecting it to take four days to get these clothes ready for her. I wasn’t expecting my heart to give that panicky skipbeat with every tiny blue onesie I moved from the washer to dryer. I wasn’t expecting the assault on my memory that some of these clothes had… the jammies that kept Joe so incredibly warm, but made him look like a sausage, the beautiful tie-dyed tshirts that a generous friend gifted us with.
I wasn’t expecting my heart to feel so strange at the thought of “no more babystuff hanging around”.
Have no fear, this basket, and one other exactly like it and just as crammed full are in the back of my van. We’ll meet on campus, and sort through the pile. And I’ll go through the storage trailer again, making sure that I got ALL of it.
Let’s hope I don’t cry then, too.
Strangely, Im not having this problem with MOST of Voldemort’s outgrown clothes. Im saving a onesie and the fuzzy hat with ears that we got him in the hospital.
Now, his toys and books and blankets might be a different story.
Yeah, but my kids are old enough that I remember the 3am feedings and general exhaustion with nostalgia.
I did good – didn’t cry at all. But I did pull my tiedye newborn shirts out.