The crocheted XTRATUF booties and the bonnet one of my best friends gave us. The sweater our neighbor bought her from Mexico. That matching pink set she wore home from the hospital. Then the bin will live in peace, and each time I pass it, I’ll remember the best stuff. I’ll add to it-just the very best stuff-until she starts buying low rise jeans or crappy band tees she doesn't even listen to. It only has about 7 items in it right now, because that box will also hold a few things throughout each year as she grows up. I want just enough sentiment in my home to create smiles and happy memories, not to bog down my space and my heart strings. And I don’t want to go through life wishing life would rewind. But when there’s too many sentimental items all piled together, it just looks like a big old pile of wishing life would rewind. Instead of the memories making me feel good, I feel a little panicky. I don’t like knowing that those flamingo pajamas that once kept her so cozy are sitting in a dark box in the garage. I feel sad that Jo will never fit into those booties again. Not just in the clutter sense-which I can’t stand, either-but the more I look around and see a bunch of stuff all packed away for the memories, the more I feel a little sad. But mostly, I did it because holding on to too many sentimental things weighs me down. I am giving them to a friend who is adopting a little girl. I’d like to say it’s because I know there’s another little girl out there who needs them, which is partially true. So I get it.īut let me tell you why I decided to part with Joey’s clothes. That’s enough to make me cry just typing it. I don’t blame anyone who holds onto those pom pom hats for the rest of time, because the pom pom hat will look the same even when the baby that used to wear it has babies of her own. When I shared a picture on Instagram of her things all boxed up, I had so many mom friends DM me to say they haven’t brought themselves to donate their kids’ clothes. I packed up the jammies I zipped on and off of her every morning and every night during her first year, the cute little pants I bought when I got self conscious about her wearing PJs all day every day (I’ve definitely gotten over that insecurity with Baby #3), and the little gold booties with the bows on the side. The knit winter hat with two giant pom moms she wore on every stroller walk. That fuzzy pink bomber jacket she only wore once. This week, I got rid of Josephine’s baby clothes. Next thing you know, you have an 8th grade photography project, a mousepad from your first job, and a sorority blanket sharing a box in the garage next to 35 other boxes filled with equally random objects. We grasp for the only thing left to keep our memories of those things as vivid as possible. People change, feelings fade, and life whizzes past. But the stuff is what we keep…because stuff is the only thing that will keep. The memories themselves are about the people, the feelings, and the events. And often, these moments are attached to objects. We never want to forget the moments in life that fill us with…well… life. It’s why I painstakingly make hand-crafted baby books for each of my kids and compile 350-page family yearbooks.
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