A Heartbreaking Closet of Teensy-ness

Confession: I still store half my stuff at my parent's house. Their closets are overflowing with High School memorabilia, old journals and cardboard boxes full of origami-folded BFF notes that I never got around to tossing. And now, because our home is relatively small and considering how much baby stuff a family accumulates/doesn't need at all but feels obligated to have because everyone says they need, it probably doesn't come as a shock when I admit that I store all of the stuff Grayson has outgrown in his closet. From the sailboat stitched bumper pad and mobile to match to the overly worn Snugli to the Infant car seat to the 3, no 4, bins of clothes he no longer wears-- it's all here. In Grayson's closet.

Today I surveyed the piles of infant-loot. He's turning one on Sunday....I'm sorry, let me repeat, HE'S TURNING ONE ON SUNDAY....whoa, breathe in, breathe out s l o w l y.....so I decided it was time to organize and select hand-me-downs. I went through the boxes and bags of infant gear, teensy-tiny infant sleeping gowns, cute-lil baby jeans, doll-clothes-like onesies and those hand-made booties that once upon a time were so sweet and wonderful but a year later, have now become heart-breaking. I lost it when I opened Gray's "Infant to 6-month" hat bin and sorted through the dozens of pageboy caps and knit hats and beanies he grew out of WAAAAY too fast.


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Where did it go? Oh LORD, where did it goooooooo...?

My husband found me in a heap of baby booties this afternoon, sobbing like an insane person.

"Um... Mis?"

"Just, Go, Kevin. LEAVE ME BE! Just GO!"

So he left, muttering something along the lines of "What the h@%..... happened to her?"

Don't get me wrong, I've passed along quite a bit of baby duds, but so, SO many....I just couldn't part with. For the record, I have no idea. My only solace is knowing that one day soon we might get pregnant again and I can recycle these cutie-batooties.

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Frankly, I don't know how parents part with their children's clothes. I'll probably end up doing like my MIL who kept all of my husband's baby-stuff. Old teddy bears, blankies, hand sewn overalls,etc.

I mean... How many little boys get to rock Daddy's overalls circa back-in-the-day?


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PRICELESS!!!

After an hour of caressing every breast-milk stained onesie and sorting through piles of Grayson's infancy, I collected a pile of suitable hand-me-downs and dried my weepy eyes.

Then I walked into the living room, layed down on the couch with my husband, and. just. cried. And begged my husband for another baby.

"You're insane."

I blame the teensy-tiny baby clothes and those stupid friggin hats and booties, man.

They're like kryptonite for hormonal, baby-obsessed crazies like me. Or mommies that just can't cope with their sons turning one.