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Sitting on the floor in front of my daughter’s overflowing dresser, I hold a large trash bag in my hands and begin to sort through her clothes. As the youngest of four, she is my last baby, and today I’m tackling the seasonal clothing switch. But this time feels different; the items she has outgrown won’t be stored for a future sibling. They’re going away for good.
I begin to create a donation pile—black and white striped leggings, a checkered peplum top, and a textured nude onesie. Digging deeper, I pull out a pair of brightly colored donut pajamas, and instantly, a vivid memory rushes in. I see her, hair tousled and cheeks flushed, bouncing in her crib, those multicolored donuts dancing up and down. Tears fill my eyes as I realize I’ll never see her in those pajamas again. Overwhelmed by sadness, I fold them gently and place them on a closet shelf instead of tossing them into the donation bag. I want to come to terms with these changes, but it’s harder than I thought.
Every few months, this seemingly mundane chore turns into a small emotional crisis for me. Unlike my friends who might shed a few tears, I’m engulfed by a heavy darkness—like something is fundamentally wrong with me. Each time I part with these tiny clothes, I feel as though I’m saying goodbye to the best time of my life. I struggle with the grief of letting go of memories I can never recreate.
I’ll never again unwrap the gray and white swaddle that held my needy, hungry newborn. I won’t slowly zip up the footie pajamas with monster feet, avoiding pinching her delicate skin. I won’t feel the ruffles of the magenta onesie against my stomach while nursing, nor will I navigate chunky thighs in those blue polka-dotted leggings. While I cherish the memories with my four healthy children, each transition fills me with a profound sadness.
But maybe it’s okay to feel both grateful and sad at the same time. Perhaps rather than trying to “fix” my emotions, I can allow myself some grace. It’s possible to look forward to the future while mourning the past.
How can I make these seasonal cleanouts a bit less painful? Maybe I’ll start by relaxing my grip on my emotions and allowing myself to feel what I need to feel. I could set aside special items without obsessing over their finality. Practicing mindfulness might help too, gently bringing myself back to the present when I start to spiral into nostalgia.
Ultimately, this is a journey I can’t rush through. I must continue to witness my children grow, to pack away clothes that no longer fit, and while it may seem like a simple task to others, for me, it carries profound weight. I will endure this and likely have many joyful days ahead.
Emily C. is a former attorney and mother of four who loves to express her feelings openly.
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Summary:
Sorting through my youngest child’s clothes brings a wave of emotions. As I pack away items she has outgrown, I grapple with the sadness of closing a cherished chapter of my life. Despite the bittersweet nature of this task, I recognize the importance of allowing myself to feel both gratitude and grief. I strive to navigate these transitions with grace, embracing the memories while looking forward to the future.