That’s right. I started. In a whirl of “now or never” energy, I grabbed a tub and yanked the top off. I dove in and got through two of them. I’m organizing by gender and size. I’m also keeping a small stash. Nothing to be done about that – Christie can’t scale the mountain in one swoop…or Rome wasn’t built in a day…or whatever metaphor you want to use there. There are some items I just cannot bring myself to part with. It’s just the way it goes. Then there are the majority of the contents that I have made peace with.
My present goal is to finish unloading all nine tubs, and then take them to consignment. That’s my “goal”. It could end up being a repackage/restore project. Again, mountains and Rome and such. On the one hand, I say “We are done ‘having’ babies!”. On the other hand I say “But God….” You feel me? On the one hand I say “even if we eventually were to add to our family, we will cross that bridge when the time comes”. On the other hand I say “what a waste! you have it already and wouldn’t need another item of clothing”. Not to mention what I can sell them for versus what I paid for them – well, it’s a huge loss.
On this particular night, here is how I comforted myself – with AB’s cooking. Now I ask you, who could not feel comforted by this? Have you ever had a grilled avacado? Oh Lord...get out of here! Shazzam, baby….
So...yeah. The meal ended and waiting for me was 7 more tubs. (Not to mention a disaster of a garage - that attic project? Yeah. Sucks. Baby steps.) I can tell you this: I have been strolling down my own sweet memory lane as I pick up and hold and sort each item. I ventured into tub number three and was reduced to a puddle of tears – which is precisely where I stopped. Keira’s clothes that she wore in China. I mean, the ones I packed and brought for her – but still. I can look at them and say “she wore this the first day we got her”…and then I cry. Or what about just her everyday outfits that I so remember matching her personality in every way…sniffle (thank you, R). Like this one:
and I sniffle and say, “how can I possibly let this go?”
Before you vote to have me white-coated and put away…is there NO ONE out there who feels this way? Even a little? Does this get better? Does this get easier? I can recall my own mother holding gingerly my infant dresses on a quasi recent garage cleanup (say, in the last ten years), and people – I’m pushing 40. DOES THIS GET BETTER?
For that matter…how do you know when you’re done? Now wait…let me say that a different way. How do you accept when you’re done? I have asked the Lord to just shout at me “YOU’RE NOT DONE”, but He’s more in the business of the “still small voice”. Cripes. So of course, my prayer is very much that He would show me what is right for our family.
But in addition to that, can you please tell me how and when you just knew. Did you feel it? Did you have confirmation in your spirit? Did you feel at total peace about it?
I feel unsure. My heart says “there are so many kids to help” and my head says “are you nuts?!?!” Back and forth, back and forth.
I rarely ask for comments. Rarely. In fact, this is technically a no-comment blog, except for the year of challenges that we’re in. But I’m asking you mamas out there: how did you know and what did you go through to determine being “done” expanding your family?
Help a sistah out with your thoughts on the subject?