I don’t know if I’ll ever want to have another baby. When I think about it now, I literally can’t imagine trying to care for a screaming newborn while also caring for another child. It seems impossible. I feel like everyone who has more than one child is insane, and that includes my parents, my in-laws, my grandparents, most of my aunts and uncles, and many of my friends.
You hear that? I think you’re all nuts.
And yet there’s a giant bin bag filled with the Popple’s newborn and 0-3 month clothes in the closet that I just can’t seem to get rid of. It travelled to Glasgow with us when when moved here from Chester. Adrian and I are hoping to move to a nicer flat in a few months, and we’ll probably bring it there too, where it will sit in the back of a closet. Waiting.
Am I hanging onto these clothes because in the back of my mind, I think I might actually push out another human being who may wear them someday? Or is it just because they’re SO unbelievably cute? I can’t look at one of the Popple’s newborn onesies without bursting into tears. They’re a reminder of how far she’s come from the squally little person she was almost six months ago. I love them all, but I don’t need dozens of tiny bodysuits cluttering up the house.
We also brought the Popple’s moses basket and rocking stand with us when we moved, despite the fact that she’d already grown out of them. They both sit on top of our wardrobe, looking clunky and awkward.
At least I can justify hanging onto the moses basket, since I’ve found a new use for it.
Yup. Cat bed. Of course.