I’m not a hoarder.
Clutter makes me ragey.
I sometimes become unhinged at the piles my husband makes around the house, including things like vet bills that are 3 years old, instead of throwing it all out.
The menagerie of stuffed animals in both of my kids’ rooms make me break out in hives.
But my god if I don’t have attachment issues to some baby things from my kids’ lives.
My oldest just turned 12 and is in the middle of a little metamorphosis. Her clothing style has changed. She’s experimenting with makeup. And she decided to do a little bedroom makeover.
She purged toys, games and some of the stuffed animals. She’s removed decor she deems “babyish”.
And then she walked up to me and handed me this lamp. It was part of her original nursery decor and has sat in her bedrooms in three different states. It matched her crib bedding and I remember marveling at it when I was excitedly adding stuff to my baby registry while pregnant with her, my firstborn.
I keep telling myself it’s just a lamp. For crying out loud, it doesn’t even work anymore and I can’t actually tell you the last time it was plugged in.
But I got teary eyed because it’s the very last piece of tangible proof of babyhood in her room. And now it’s sitting in my garage because I just can’t get rid of it.
I will. Eventually. But letting go of it is hard and makes me emotional. Hanging on to it feels like me hanging on the the last shred of little girl left in her.
Her new and improved cool tween room has no place for a pink chandelier lamp and I’m not really ok. It’s a chapter I’m not ready for.
So for now I’ll just steal glimpses of the baby lamp in between loads of laundry in the garage. I’ll remember that little baby who first made me a mom. I’ll remember every inch of her room when we brought her home for the first time.
And maybe one day, I’ll let it go. But not today.
