My daughter’s drawers are overflowing. For such a tiny girl, she has an awful lot of stuff. So today, while she and my husband played, I tackled her clothes.
My goal was to get rid of anything that no longer fit. She is in 18 month clothes now, and I haven’t gone through her things since before we moved in November. My mother in law packed a lot of her boxes, so I actually barely knew what was in her drawers at all.
The answer? A lot. Clothes as small as 9 months, socks that said 0-3. I purged and purged, tossing onesie after onesie into a bin. I tossed all of the bibs she won’t let us put on her anymore, and pajamas that no longer zipped over her little belly. I got rid of pants that were more like shorts and hats that wouldn’t fit on even the tip of her head.
I was sad as I did it. I spent some time reminiscing over this outfit or that, remembering my baby as a real baby. But then my husband brought her up to “visit” me in my work, and she sang her ABCs (or at least a 17 month version of her ABCs). And I thought about the little girl who was taking the place of the baby. I’ll miss her as a baby, but I’m excited to watch her grow into a girl.