I had a rather tearful moment last night: I was sorting through TB and Li’l Mister’s old baby clothes. I’d promised them to Emma for her new bubs and as she’ll likely pop any day now I figured I better get to it.
Although I wanted to keep a few pieces I realised that it’s likely they’ll never be worn by another baby. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made my peace with being single and my life doesn’t have space for another man or much smaller addition to my family but it’s a sad moment when you realise that you’re done. There will be no more babies.
As I folded clothes and sorted them by size I remembered my boys when they were small enough to wear those tiny t-shirts. It’s been clear for a while that TB’s growing up (seven going on moody teenager) but Li’l Mister’s still been my baby. As much as I wanted to cling to that idea it’s no longer true. He walks, he talks, he’s opinionated, stubborn yet loving. Although he’s still a toddler he’s a small person now with only a few lingering rolls of fat to remind me of the baby he once was.
It’s time to let go of those babies. I’ve packed up all but a small box of clothes to send to Emma and the ones I’ve kept have real sentimental value. I’ve kept the baby blankets that my Nan knitted before TB was born but the remaining bedding is gone too. I’m a mum to boys now and these baby clothes have no place in our house. We’re all growing up.














