I'm not the best writer. I'm not even the best speaker, I've spoken at a number of events and no one is beating down my door to get me to share my stories with them, but.....
I love to story tell. I LOVE to share my faith. I absolutely love when the opportunity arises to share moments in my life that I think impact us all.
Since you know I digress like crazy....back to the picture. I've been slowly but surely going through all of our 'schtuff.' As you can imagine, a family of 10 tends to accumulate quite a bit o crap. Not only do we accumulate stuff, but we are really good at destroying the stuff we accumulate. I often joke about my kids being able to destroy an anvil. I really mean that....
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| A steel anvil. Don't underestimate my kids ability to not destroy this... |
So the last few weeks, I've been slowly collecting boxes and boxes of things we no longer use, need to go to the dump because I'm a firm believer in not giving other people my crap, or just will never use and someone could probably benefit from our donation....
It's a slow and painful process now, because I'm on the clothing. I have so many generous friends who have given us tub loads of clothing. TUB LOADS. So, for years, I cull each season and keep what the next child can use (with seven girls, this is very handy having so many girl clothing boxes...)
But...now we've reached a moment in our lives that has for lack of a better word, knocked the breath out of me....
We are in a changing of seasons.... But I don't mean summer to 9 months of winter... I mean, changing from expecting babies often...
I am going to try to write this without bawling like a baby and having my 4 year old and 2 year old become frightened of their old momma sitting at the computer sniffing and snorting as she relays her emotional hormonal life's story......
That box.
Inside that Sam's club box is the last of my baby clothing. All the burp clothes, little onesies. Sweet little snowman hat. Tiny little socks. The little hand mits for my babies who had razor sharp nails and sliced and diced their faces daily. Little soft washcloths. The first outfit my oldest almost 20 year old daughter wore home from the hospital so long ago in Little Rock, Arkansas. The sweet little frog outfit my 18 year old son wore for his 1 year old picture that Walmart photo studio just happened to have a little green frog to put beside him that matched almost perfectly.
There are hats they wore home from the hospital. There are sweet "little sister" suits. Tiny jackets that I still can't believe were ever big enough for my 8+ pound babies. An entire box of memories right there. As i loaded each outfit into the box, I felt something I can't explain completely. I will try, but like I said, I'm not good with words, but maybe you can relate....
With each outfit, I would sigh, remembering the baby who wore it. Most recently our #8. But some of these outfits brought back WAVES of memories. Long nights with baby #3 because she struggled with reflux that always seemed to rare it's ugly head between the hours of 3-5 AM.....
Nervous nights as a first time momma, when I would sit there and literally listen to my oldest breathe wondering if she was breathing "right." (my super hero hubs would tell you that Children's Hospital of Little Rock made quite a killing on this first time mom and her worrisome self....)
Nights of realizing after sleeping for 7 hours that the boy you thought would never sleep through the night, finally did at 4 months. This was after spending the first three months crying 24/7. No lie....
Days of trying to wrestle 5 children in and around the walmart cart as I dutifully tried to balance a newborn and 4 children 5 and under and not make a huge scene getting a few days worth of groceries. All the while subject to the typical comments common with large families...
"you know how that happens?" (I think we've figured it out, yes.)
"They make something you can take to stop them from coming..." (no lie- been told that)
"Do you have a tv in your bedroom?" (are ya kidding me.....)
Pictures of my babies flood my head as I try to remember each one at this age of clothing (0-12 mos) and I am full of love and also, a bit sad. I'm ready to give all these things away. I've no reason to save them for "the next one." It's time to be done with this age of clothing. And my heart is sad!
Sad you say? Well, yes! For 22 years, my husband and I have been open to life. Meaning, nothing unnatural stopped us from having babies. Nothing still does, but we are both older and realizing that while we are open to life, we are feeling the call that we've filled our home with who God wants us to have at this point. I've always, ALWAYS, felt that baby nudge after each birth, eventually. And, minus the 4 years of infertility and multiple miscarriages, we've always been open. Meaning, we didn't set out to have more, but we knew it could happen and if God wanted it to, it was gonna happen. Especially when I tend to miscount my charts.....
So as I packed away these clothes, my heart hurt. No more pregnant belly. No more kicks. No more hiccups. No more rubbing on a tiny hand or leg and feeling the baby on the other side push as though she was trying to hold my hand, too. No more wondering if we'll have a girl or boy- we pretty much figured all girls after four straight....
Sad may not be the right word. Bittersweet. I love having babies. Being pregnant was difficult for me after my four miscarriages. I always carried hesitation in my heart for the first 20 weeks or so. I very nearly died after I had my 7th. But to know that my time to carry babies is now ending, brought about many emotions for me.
I know, I know, I know. I am too old. Or, maybe I'm not really done. Or, don't you care about the planet and overpopulation (let me insert my giant eye roll there, please....)
I have, apparently, a good possible 10 years until full menopause and my husband just turned 50 this week. God is still in control. And as much as that drives some people nuts, it's mine and my superhero hubs rule of life. If we are gonna talk the talk, we must walk the walk.
And boy is that walk hard.
Our lifestyle is anything but "cool" in this day and age. But how I've loved the last 19 years. Always looking forward to another milestone of a new baby's birth. The older ones loving and caring for the baby. Some of them even praying for more siblings every night. (others claiming they were adopted and would like to find their adoptive parents.....)
But that box.
It's sitting by itself in my room. I'm not giving it to the charity that is picking up our things next week. I'm saving it for a pregnancy center. I've pulled out the best pieces and tossed the ones I wouldn't put on my own babies, let alone a strangers baby. I have chosen three outfits out of that entire box to hold on to for a while longer.
One is the outfit I spoke of earlier that my oldest came home in. There is something about that moment we officially came home with this baby that makes me never want to part with that gown.
Another is the outfit I wrote about that my son wore on his first birthday. There were very few things he didn't destroy as a rambunctious baby. Either with spit up or crawling, or just digging and being in dirt.
The last outfit is a dress given to me by one of my aunts. It's a gap dress and my oldest wore it when she was 6 weeks old and I had about $700 in pictures taken of her in it and my youngest wore it around the same time and I took the pictures myself of her in it. It too, brings back all 19 years of childbirth/baby time in one fell swoop.
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| Baby #8 in the dress my #1 wore as well. |
Some would say, it shouldn't be so painful. You should be glad to be done with baby time. I think sometimes, our guarded hearts say things like that to protect our true thoughts on those things. I thought I was too old to have Agnes. I was 44. But that child has brought us as much, if not more joy than our first because, well honestly, mostly, because we are tired.... haha. But also, because we aren't so worried about every little thing. We enjoy them more now. So when I hear people say, "aren't you glad to be done?" Or, "you're done, right?" I think it's more self preservation on their part assuring themselves that they have no regrets on their child bearing decisions. I can't control their words to me, but I can, deep down inside, weep with them as I realize I'll most likely never carry another baby in my womb again. I have been blessed beyond what I deserve. I can not thank nor praise my Lord enough for the many blessings in my life. Even with the crosses, He always has shown me the blessings, too. He reminds me daily with each gift of life, that He is truly the Author of Life and my superhero hubs and I have participated openly and with very little regret.
So the changing seasons for me is so much more than summer ending and fall starting. It's about boxing up the past and looking forward to what the future holds. It's about knowing we are open, but also knowing we must be prudent and proceed with care. Understanding that we can say we are "done" but know that 'thy will be done...' It's bittersweet. And the memories can sustain us, pictures can make us smile and bring a tear to our eyes. Change is never easy. But with time, gets better. Thanks for letting me share this little "secret" with you. Thanks for letting me be a bit more vulnerable about something I hold so dear to my heart. And know I am praying for you. Please pray for me.
