the twenty-nineth

I am purging.....don't worry I am not an alcoholic or bulimic. Mostly baby and kid stuff. Clothing, strollers, shoes, equipment....a lot of stuff. It is time to let go of all the s&^t that is cluttering closets, spare rooms and of course the man cave (garage). Heaven forbid something other than a saw, ATV or "very important tool" (a real quote) occupy the family garage. See how I put family garage, but it is really his garage. Don't tell him I said that....

During this process of purging and sorting I found myself getting sad as I would cart handfuls of clothing and random equipment I had forgotten about to the living room of our house. And for a few days I could not figure out what was wrong with me. Why was I so sad. Purging is great. Everyone should purge. It's rejuvenating. But this was different. I would feel fine, then I would sort through the huge pile of stuff that has almost taken over our living room and I would feel horrible.

Tonight chardonnay and I (I already told you I am not an alcoholic....but chard is a great friend. Usually comes out on Friday's, but it was a busy day) were sorting through a huge, huge mound of clothing. I felt my body begin to tense, my lip quiver and a tear run down my face. I sat down and I cried. I realized that the horrible feeling was sadness. A lot of sadness. While I love a good purge, this purge is different. It's the baby stuff from MY babies. It's not old tupperwear, or old clothes, or towels. It's MY babies stuff. Each piece has a memory attached....well, maybe not each piece but it sure feels that way. My babies don't wear those little tiny socks any more. Or the dress with the adorable hat. Or the little red shoes - so tiny. And my twins (my who the ___ would have thought we would end up with twins) no longer wear those little sleepers or hats or matching jeans stamped with "my first denim" on the pocket. They are too big for that stuff. They are not babies. They are toddlers. The purge is a good bye to babyhood. I have never been much of a fan of letting go and saying good bye. This is a hard process.

And as I cried all I could remember is the cute little, cuddly babies. MY cute, cuddly babies. The memories of sleepless nights with a screaming child who seems to be completely inconsolable, which then makes mommy inconsolable, and then he has to deal with two (or three) bumbling idiots in the middle of the night....you get where I am going with this. But at the moment of purging I can only remember the ups of MY babies. The lows....well, I guess I purged those too. The lows are probably at the bottom of the box with the newborn onesies. Folded, priced and ready to be sold to the highest bidder.