I'm going through all of the boys' baby clothes, sending a bunch to a friend in Florida and giving the winter stuff to Will's mom. What started as a simple sorting chore turned into a kind of emotional experience.
I thought I'd be able to just put everything in their respective boxes and then ship it all off. Not so.
How about the picture in my mind of teeny-Eenie in his little striped baby bag all nestled in the pack-n-play in the living room of our old house? What about that time I took a picture of him in the little overalls and puppy-dog shirt in the hallway with Bryan holding him up just before we went to introduce him to my co-workers when he was 2 weeks old? How about the "Future Mr. Right" onesie that Chase wore in the hospital that was funny and cute--- but bittersweet in my crazed after-the-diagnosis-state---? Or the "Not Too Little to Giggle" shirt that I got in 2 sizes just because I liked the message when Chase wore it?
How about the 9-12 month clothes that were a little big on Chase last winter but still fit him now? Guess I'll put those right back in his drawer.
I'm stashing the stuff I can't part with in boxes headed for the attic. I'm not ready to let those things go yet.
Meanwhile, I'll box up the rest of it all while I cry...tears of happiness and sadness, of joy and thanks, and of frustration. God, I'm a mess.