Just "Stuff?"

I may be many things, but a hoarder, I am not. I can't STAND clutter. (Smeone should have warned me about having two kids 20 months apart. Wait, that's right- they did). It looks like a Fisher Price bomb went off in my living room at any given time of day. Since we just recently moved, I've been in a very special frame of mind, trying to find homes for things on shelves, packing away storage bins, breaking down boxes, cursing under my breath and generally finding myself quite shocked at the amount of "stuff" we've accrued over the last five years.

I had always thought myself to be a realist when it came to deciding whether or not to save or "chuck" something. It was usually the latter of the two. "Out with the old, in with the new" was my motto. Obviously, pictures and family heirlooms are a different story altogether, but my general rule of thumb was that if I hadn't worn/used/looked at something in over 6 months, it was gone. Someone else could benefit from it. I would even go so far to say that I could stand to be a little more sensitive in this area. When Jake recently asked me if I was going to keep my wedding dress, I nonchalantly replied- "Nah. It's just taking up space." (Shallow alert: if it was a true designer gown, that would not have been my reply). ;)

In truth, I just never grew that attached to stuff.

{Says the woman who sat on the floor of the living room today, sniffling and crying as I went through bin after bin of Ella's baby clothes}. I'm going to preface this by saying that I'm pretty darn sure that mother nature is days away from giving me her first gift in over 15 months (I know you wanted to know this, right?). The point being, my hormones are on overdrive at the moment and I have found myself crying at odd and random times throughout the last week. But in my quest to tackle the post-move clutter from my house, I made a few appointments with several children's consignment stores around town and am scheduled to drop off the first few bins tomorrow morning. Originally, it was just another task on the to-do list. But when I sat down and started sifting through the itty-bitty onesies and outfits, I was flooded with memories of my little baby Bug and oh, the tears started coming. Her hospital hat, the itty bitty bikini she wore our first summer at the beach, some of my favorite outfits that I realized I had completely forgotten about, her first halloween costume, the outfit she wore when we visited Santa, the cute (albeit pointless) shoes that I couldn't resist buying for her- all tucked away so many months ago when I had said "just in case we have another girl." When we found out Milo was Milo, I couldn't have been happier even though a part of me knew I would never have as much fun dressing him as I did her. (And I was right).

Although I'm quite sure that we are done (or, done enough for me to say that I'm selling her clothes to consignment), something in me aches. Much the way it did the first time she said, "Go, Mommy. I do it myself." Much, I'm sure, the way it will on her first day of preschool. And oh GOD, her first day of Kindergarten- and every grade after, as I realize that my baby is getting older, and ironically, my memory is getting weaker. Even now, I try to conjure up images of her when the newborn sleepers were hanging off of her tiny arms and legs. Some memories are as clear as if they happened yesterday. But many have gotten swept up in the chaos of life, packed away like the little rompers and dresses I forgot we even had.

The practical side of me knows we don't have the space. But now, Kristin "the mommy" confronts the Kristin of 10 years ago- the carefree, untethered one who swore she would never be convinced to hang on to just "stuff." She said a lot of things though, before she had kids...