Tonight I got the old baby clothes out of the attic for the consignment sale I will be participating in this year. I decided to go ahead and get rid of all of the winter and fall stuff that your brother has already outgrown. I was so certain that it was going to be a quick and easy process that while Daddy was doing the pre-bed-prep I threw the first bag of clothes onto the bed and began sorting. My eyes were watering within 4 minutes. I wasn't prepared for how hard it was going to be.
I thought I would just toss them in neat little piles, smiling at this one or that one, but when I picked up your green fuzzy sweatsuit that was the standard, cold weather outfit, when you were just a year old, I held it to my chest. When I picked up a pair of footy pjs and held them up so I could see the size, my muscle memory kicked in and I remember how exactly it felt to hold you up in the air when you only weighed a few pounds. I can tell you where each article of clothing came from, who purchased it and why I loved it so. I can tell you which shirts your belly poked out of, or which onesie you threw up on immediately each time we put you into it. I can tell you which pants were the warmest and what you wore the first day of preschool. And while it doesn't matter to anyone else... those memories matter to me. Because when I see the pants that you wore on the first day of preschool, I remember you on the first day of preschool. How small you were sitting on my hip, next to my buldging belly where your brother, (due any day) was curled up and sleeping, waiting to be born. How scared I was for you. How I went to iHop to celebrate my child free time and ordered pancakes that I was too nervous to eat.
Tonight, I could not stop staring at you when you came over to rummage though the bag to see if there was anything that would fit one of the babydolls we bought for you when Tristan was born. How did you get so big SO FAST?! It's incredible. I'm so lucky to have been able to stay home with you and your brother. While I do a lot of complaining about how I don't have time to myself or how I don't stop moving until 9pm, it really is a gift to have been able to nurture you full time. You should thank your Father some time for making it happen... and maybe so should I.
But some days now you look at me, like you've just had enough of me and when I come over to put my arms around you and hug you, you whine and push me away. I understand. Some days I feel like that too. But if I could get you back into that onesie with the bunnies and bears on it, I swear I'd hold you forever.
I love you,
Mommy
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