Tiny, Little Clothes

My husband says to let them go.

I know he's right but I can't. I fold these tiny little clothes. I fold them for the millionth and one time. It is mindless and numbing and boring to fold. Until it's the last time. Until we've both agreed that our last baby was our very last baby. I have tears welling up saying those words. Five years and some odd months ago I had my first son. Today, I blinked and my family was complete. There will be no more pregnancies. No more uncomfortable sleeps. No more belly rubs, belly kicks or belly hiccups.

From now on, they just grow. There is no new life on the horizon. From here forward, it's a matter of nurturing the babes that make our family complete. But I can't let go. I hold the tiny clothes to my chest. I feel the fabric between my fingers. I remember just what my kid looked like as he was wearing this little hat. These tiny pants. That small shirt. I remember how cute and smiley he was. I remember exactly what pictures we took in it. And then I packed it away for his brother. And then I packed it away for his next sibling. And now. Now, we don't need these tiny clothes but I'm having a really hard time letting them go.

With them go the hopes of expanding our family. With them go the memories. With them go the tiny rips and tears from their falling first steps. They are taking a piece of me with them too.

Our family is complete. I keep saying it over and over and hoping the next time it doesn't sting to say. We live in a tiny home with five people and two big dogs. I completely understand my husband’s rationale that we need to find either a massive amount of cash or a house twice the size of ours. It's logical and reasonable and the best thing for our family. But it doesn't take the hurt away. When I think that our family will never meet another member, never bring a new baby home, never experience another personality to call our own. It hurts. It's logical but it hurts.

These teeny tiny little clothes. How much love and life they hold.