Thursday, 20 May 2010
Yesterday, I folded dozens of tiny vests, packed away stacks of little blue sleepsuits, and cleared out drawers filled with mini hats, mittens and booties.
Finally, after weeks of stalling, it was time to consign the newborn baby clothes to the loft.
I remember hanging these little things on the line for the very first time just a few short weeks ago, before the boy was born. I was enthralled by their smallness, enraptured by the sweet, nostalgic smell of Comfort and impatient for them to be animated from within by chubby baby limbs.
Now, less than two months on, I can no longer fasten the poppers or stretch his arms through the sleeves, and have had to admit that they no longer fit.
Packing away these little things, many of which have never been worn, feels like closing the first chapter of John's little life and makes me feel hollow inside.
I waited so very long for this baby to arrive and his babyhood seems to be slipping by so very quickly.
I'm aware that if I don't learn to let go, parenting is likely to break my heart every day for the rest of my life.