Out growing

With a birthday coming up, and lots of ankles and wrists sticking out of clothes, I decided to do a closet purge. I have to do it when she's not home because she bursts into tears at the thought of getting rid of any of her clothes because they are all her FAAAAvorite, especially the ones that don't fit and that she never wears.
So I'm going through drawers and making piles and when I find the little tiny baby sock, my heart stops for a second.

I am not one of those people who couldn't wait to clear out all the baby clutter. I know people like that, who showed up at my front door with garbage bags full of clothes and gear at the first mention that I was pregnant. I am not one of those people who is longing for the day when all the kids in my house are out of diapers, or who cheers when they realize they don't need highchairs anymore.

I am the person who holds each baby sock tenderly and folds it and can't quite put it in the Goodwill pile.

I am the person who kept the highchair in the basement for years, just in case, and only was persuaded to let it go, ahem, a couple of months ago.

When we moved the kids into their shared room and thus Brixton moved into his big kid bed in January, I kept the crib. Of course I kept the crib. It's stacked in pieces in the basement. In case we have any baby house guests.

I'm always glad to see the ways my kids are changing and growing and learning and becoming more themselves. I love it, I love hearing about what they love and what they know and what they wonder about.

But I miss when they fit in the space between my wrist and my elbow, I miss feeling their tiny limbs fluttering as they turned around and around in their universe inside me. I miss knowing that I was walking around with life growing somehow in the spaces I carry.

A couple of years ago, I was wearing Brixton facing out in the Moby and I went to a Greek Festival at a local church. There was a room with tables full of food and crafts and all the Greek bubbies were there selling their wares. As soon as I walked into the room, one of the bubbies motioned me over.
"You. Bring that baby over here." I did as instructed, and she reached across her table of fancy feta to tickle his feet and squeeze those lovely plump baby legs.

Even then, I realized I was looking at my future. That I am going to be that lady, commanding visits from the babies and admiring those legs. And that future is starting in five...four..three...two...