Other Kids in Baby Clothing
In the interest of space, and of perfectly good items going unused, we’ve given away most of our baby clothes. I’ve saved a few pieces. Okay, a lot of pieces. Like all of their preemie clothing and clothes that hold special significance. But for the most part, their clothes are less and less the tangible memory pieces they once were. When they were babies, all we had to save were their onesies. But now we have homework and art projects and all the random things a child creates or accumulates. The clothing now drifts away when we outgrow it, not as important as it once was.
Sometimes it goes to strangers. Sometimes it goes to people we know: friends and family.
Sometimes I see photos of other kids in our baby clothing.
It’s bittersweet. I love that the clothes are getting more use. I am such a practical person, and the idea of something not being used well kills me. I like seeing the clothes again on another happy kid. It makes me remember my kids in those clothes and the equally silly, shit-eating grins they wore while in those outfits.
Sometimes it makes me cry.
Because I look at those much smaller children and remember what it felt like to have much smaller children.
I’ve loved every age so far. They’ve each had their high points and low points. I was very scared to have the kids grow up, but if history is a predictor of the future, I should calm the fuck down because it just gets better and better, especially when you can have real, deep conversations or activities that go beyond hand clapping and singing a song in a circle. The twins are my favourite people, and I should trust that they will remain my favourite people. After all, I am close with my parents. It is entirely possible that they will remain close to me even as they grow apart from me and untangle themselves.
And yet even knowing that, I can’t help but feel wistful when I see another child still back in those smaller sized clothes.
Josh and I love seeing the pictures. Whenever one pops up in our Facebook feed, we turn our phone to the other one and then talk about back when our kids wore those clothes. I love remembering, but it makes me cry to remember.