Sorting Memories (in onesie form)

This week I’ve been packing up all the baby clothes (and toddler clothes, and preschooler clothes) that my kids have outgrown. Since we made the decision to not have more children, I don’t have a need to keep them anymore.

I bought this little sweater for Theo, and I just love the whimsy of it. I love the imagination and flexible play of childhood, and clothing that channels that lightness brings me joy and reflects my highest aspirations of childhood. I can vividly remember sitting in the park with Theo on a blanket at two months old, feeling like a strong mother with three kids. Three is the number where you jump ship from reasonable to getting into having “too many” kids, and I was excited for the excess. It turns out that I didn’t want to get as excessive as I thought at that time, but I still cherish the feeling of pride at adding the third baby to our family, and surviving a road trip with all three. 

With the plastic tubs in the attic, I felt a sense of perpetual hope, waiting for a new little life to fill them and spill on them. They were boxes of preparation to welcome new life to our family. They felt like symbols of a continuing journey of adding to our family, clothing to protect a tiny body with an unknown future, projections of what that future might hold. The pajamas that said, “Daddy’s Number One Draft Pick”, with the hope that maybe someone will someday share Tommy’s love of fantasy football. Or the full matching outfit from Janie and Jack - will they be a preppy golfer? Or the swirling, ruffled dress - will she be a girly princess? 

Just like shopping for clothes for myself, when I shop for the kids, it’s a process of creating and representing identity, of showing publicly my hopes and dreams for them. Often this choice is unconscious in the moment, as it presents itself as choosing a cute dress, or opening an email about a sale from a website, but when I look now, I contemplate why I chose it. 

I just found this little hat, which matched an outfit (that I have already given away). I bought it for Ruthie. She wears mostly hand-me-downs as the younger sister, but sometimes I splurge and get her something special just for her. It doesn’t have to be practical because practical is covered with the hand me downs. I loved this little outfit, and it was perfect for my summer baby. I still remember taking her to parties and to a winery in Fredericksburg in this little hat. I remember buying it, wanting Ruthie to develop her own life and not always be just a second version of her big sister.

And I find there is a whole journey of motherhood contained in the choices I made, shopping online late at night for the next size of clothing. When I sort through these boxes, I can see the meandering visions for the what kind of mother I would be and what kind of kids I would have. As I pull out a frilly dress, I see visions of perfect family photos with my perfect little angels with matching hats and bows for all their outfits. When I pull out footie pajamas with stripes, I remember wanting to be the kind of parent who buys gender neutral clothes so their kid doesn’t feel pressured to conform to societal gender expectations. Opening another box from a different year, full of comfy dresses and leggings, I am transported to feeling like the kind of parent who is practical, not focused on appearances, and I choose practical, comfy, inexpensive play clothes. When I pull out the faded Peppa Pig outfit, I can flash back to standing in Target, deciding to stop trying to control who they become and buy the outfit they will love (and they did) and I will hate (I never did like it). 

As the oldest, Harper is the one with whom I have to do a lot of figuring out who I am as a mom. I am more confident at each stage with the other two because I already had a year of practice as the mother of a two year old, a three year old, and so on. 

I grew up dancing, and loving ballet, and I hoped to share that with her. I signed her up for dance at the earliest possible opportunity, and I was so thrilled when I bought these tiny ballet shoes. It turns out she isn’t very into dance, so that dream has dissipated into the mist of preschool, but I still remember the joyful hope of sharing some of my passions with her. I am learning that the way this works is that she will share her passions with me, and I will have the opportunity to learn new things. At least we both like to read!

In the present, I feel uncertain, still developing, figuring out how to parent. But when I sort through the clothes, I can see that I have come so far in understanding who I am and what that means for me as a parent. I know I would never choose some of these ideas of motherhood again for myself. The uncertainty I felt at the time floods me when I open the boxes and see the clothes, and I am reminded of how far I have come, how much more confident I am today.

When I was pregnant with Harper, I bought this little red lace romper. It’s totally impractical for a baby -- it has no snaps, a little bit itchy, hard to get on and off. But when I searched on pinterest for newborn pictures, lots of the newborns were wearing things like this. So I bought it.  I remember feeling like it was an extravagance at a time when Tommy and I were not earning any income (we were working on becoming Primrose owners). I bought very few things for Harper as a baby, and this was one of them. I was imitating what I thought was cute, based on what other people thought was cute. It turns out to not be what I would choose now, but it still transports me to the moment of buying it and how happy I was to receive it in the mail. (And hey, she did look so sweet.)

As I sort through the clothes and consider what to keep, I have to decide how to decide what stays and what goes. Do I keep the items that I spent more money on for special occasions? The items that were special gifts with a memory of a loved one attached? The items I reached for over and over to dress them in, without really knowing why that shirt, or that dress, was the favorite? What qualifies for staying in the box, and what must be passed on to make room for the next chapters? What memories do I want to keep, and what do I want to release? I get to reflect and decide box by box, item by item. It’s a lovely, physical experience of reflecting on my first seven years as a parent and choosing what memories to cherish. 

Sorting the clothes has been hopeful. I am reminded of all the happy times we have had with the flashbacks to buying the outfits and to seeing them wearing the clothes. I am filled with hope that our future will hold as many happy memories, and many fewer boxes of clothes in the attic.