All those tiny little cute outfits, worn once, twice, three times.
Some have been on all three of my boys.
These are the clothes I carefully poppered over tiny little toes, carefully zipped up tiny little bodies, cuddled close after feeds and pegged up on the washing line, unaware or not of their last service towards our cause.
The ones which hold the most emotional resonance, pushed back into a duffell bag to be stored now - but for what purpose?
These are my memories.
I most likely won't be using them again now.
They're not waiting 'just in case'. Are they?
I had to tell myself as I went through them; 'there's no point in them sitting redundant'.
No point in them taking up space or gathering dust.
Someone else should be using these gorgeous little things again.
These gifts so thoughtfully given, the things carefully chosen by me, by friends, by all the visitors.
These are the things I squealed over, carefully opened, were so surprised by, they made new-mummy-me cry over the kindness, the generosity.
It's time to say a fond farewell to tiny baby years, tiny baby things, tiny baby bits and pieces and look forwards now.
My baby is a year old in less than a month.
He's thrown himself into life so fully. He's grown so much. Even moved up a centile as if to make fun of my constant chiding: "stop growing, baby!"
He giggles when say this Stands up all by himself in the middle of the room all by himself, grins, shows me his little teeth, points, waves, says words, all of the things I don't want him to be doing yet.
But he does.
He's not a tiny little baby any more.
It goes too fast.
Now it's my turn to surprise someone. To show the kindness. To repay the generosity and to make another new mummy wonder at the kindness of strangers.
So I bundle up the bits. I tell myself it's the last time, but not too harshly. I make sure that I also allow myself to realise it could all happen again maybe one day.
Though I know it won't.
They're just clothes.
Just clothes.
I can always get more clothes.
If I ever need to...
