Letting Go

I have serious over-attachment issues. It’s no surprise that my kids do too. A couple months ago one of the tater tots stood in the front door blowing kisses and waving to the UPS driver who had just brought us a package.

“Goodbye! Love you!”

Note to You: This particular driver is eye candy. But I digress.

These issues, for me, run deep.

Every 3-4 months, it’s imperative for any parent to have a Come To Jesus meeting about the clothes hanging in the kiddos closets. Living in the Midwest, our weather changes almost as fast as our corn-fed kids grow.

On a recent Saturday afternoon, I was going through the girls’ clothes. Since Sam I Am, my baby, just turned 2 years old, it is time to do away with all 18 month and smaller, sized items.

Tiny, precious. little parcels were all to be boxed and passed along. The pink and red polka dot number, with the felt flower sewn on, that can be spotted in umpteen photos of my girls. The Kermit the Frog green sweatsuit with the unfinished edges and star pocket that all three of my babies totted around in. Thermal vintage Mickey Mouse pjs that I hand picked myself in California.

These aren’t just clothes that I am passing along, they are itty bitty parts of our lives. Each outfit has a story. Some tell a story. “That is the shirt she first ate Spaghettios in! See the faint orange spots all over? It’s not supposed to be that way, it just blends well.”

I can still smell my kids when I press them up to my nose and inhale. Powdery lavender with a touch of strawberries and maple syrup. I do save a few items from each kiddo to place in their keepsake box. Everyone has an item or two from newborn to 2T to pass along to their family someday. Or to serve as a reminder of how crazy their mother is.

I adore every tiny sock, boot and tank top.

Thankfully, my bestie was on hand this particular day to assist me with the trauma of packing up baby clothes for one of the last times in my life. It was her job to act as the voice of reason.

I sat on the floor, head down, throwing ensembles at her as quickly as I could, blurting out randomly “Hurry! Away before I change my mind!”

If there was an item in question, I would hold it up and either crinkle my nose in distaste or lean my head to one side and fight back tears.

There was a tiny pair of legging that I have an uncanny affection for.

Me: “What about these? She could still wear these under a little jean skirt with boots or something. Look at them. They are practical.”

Tho: “NO. Step away from the leggings. Katy. Slowly put them down.”

Me: “But…”

Tho: “Step away from the leggings.”

Like pulling of a bandage, I tossed them into the hallway pile to go far far away.

It’s not the clothes themselves that I am attached to. It’s my kids playing, singing, dancing or running amok in these tiny ensembles. There is no monetary value, just sentiment.

As difficult as it is, I am letting go. It is bittersweet to see the growth and change in each kid with the change of the seasons. And who doesn’t love an excuse to buy new clothes? (Hello, zulily!)

This particular bin of clothes is packed and ready to go. Although, it is a smidgen lighter than it should be.

Confession: I dug out the leggings. Sometimes it’s OK to be impractical.