THERE’S NOTHING LIKE a garage sale to make a person face the facts of life. I just shut the door on mine — my second one this year.
It seems like about every six months my house needs to be purged: The coin-sorting machine we got for Christmas one year that would be much happier in a home where loose change actually existed. (I keep looking under my sofa cushions; it’s just not there.) The tarnished silver gravy boat I bought at a flea market after we were first married, but that we have yet to use on Thanksgiving Day. (We usually opt for a big spoon and the bottom of the roasting pan.) And those decadent designer high, high heel pumps I bought for a steal this summer, but realized — once I got home — that they made me look like an absolute giant next to my husband.
Those things are easy to say good-bye to — I was never attached to them, never even used them. Trading them in for a few bucks feels good.
But then there are those things I’ve sloooowly been cleaning out of my house over the years, one garage sale at a time, that aren’t as easy to let go of: cribs, diaper bags, changing tables, bouncy seats, high chairs, blankets, maternity clothes (who knew I’d be attached to those?), onesies, breast pumps — and the baby carrier.
This is the last piece of “baby equipment” to go, my baby carrier, and it sat on a table at my garage sale a few days ago for the very first time. (I say that, because I’ve had it in my “garage sale pile” many times over the last couple of years, but yanked it out at the last minute every time.)
My black and white baby carrier, faded and very well-used, but more beautiful today than it was the day I first took it out of the box nearly nine years ago. And that’s not because of what it looks like, but because of what it represents to me. As much as it soothed my fussy babies time and time again, it was my security blanket through those first six, tireless, postpartum months — three times over. On days of sheer desperation, it was a gift. When my baby was snuggled in it, tight and quiet against my chest, it allowed me a few moments to breathe, to find my confidence once again, to remember why we brought these helpless loads of work into our lives in the first place — and to enjoy being a mother.
As difficult as those first few months are on any young mother, the feeling of accomplishment when it’s over is unparalleled. More rewarding than a mastery of any degree could ever promise, finally saying “goodbye” to all that “stuff,” for many moms, is like receiving that long sought after — and well-deserved — diploma.
Certainly for me, at the time of their use, my baby carrier and all the other paraphernalia were only synonymous with exhaustion. I longed for a full night’s sleep, a day that didn’t revolve around three naps and a physique that didn’t resemble a milking machine. But now, a few years out from “babyhood,” they are reminders of something different: that those days are really over for good. (It’s funny, I hardly remember it being hard.)
The “baby” of the house is almost 3 years old.
“I’m a big boy!” Will counters, proudly, to anyone who dares to call him “The Baby.”
And he’s right. He’s not a baby any more.
It’s not his fault his mother is a little reluctant to face the facts. Three children made our family “complete,” my husband and I decided 2 1/2 years ago. We both felt as if there were finally a period at the end of that chapter in our lives. Our energies could now be focused on raising the three Little Walkers to the best of our abilities.
Still, moving on and letting go isn’t easy.
But I’m working on it. The carrier was technically for sale on Friday. Several people picked it up, looked it over and were probably outraged at the price I was asking for it, considering its condition.
It didn’t sell.
But that was OK with me. I think it was out there on the table more for me than any prospective buyer. It was a test, of sorts, to see if I could leave that chapter of my life behind once and for all.
In six months, who knows the value at which I will be willing to let it go.
In the meantime, I’ll be on the look-out for something even more tranquilizing than a baby carrier to help me survive two pre-tween girls — and one more episode of Hannah Montana.
historian1982 (Nick Gronseth) says...
excellent article
September 4, 2009 at 4:28 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )
MerryCarol (anonymous) says...
Ashley, I raised a handful of children. And became attached to the things we used. But there were two or three things that I became terribly attached to, but were useless to me after the babies were no longer small.
The thought of selling them was beyond what I could do. I just couldn't, no way.
But then one day it struck me that there are parents out there who don't have the money or means to have some of the luxuries I had, and it was a shame to keep these items when someone else could use them, and would benefit from them.
I gave them to a group who gave things, for free, to very poor people. While I was at it, I donated a few other things too that I wasn't attached to. Lightened my load and brightened someone else's life.
I never once missed those things, and felt so good knowing that other people were getting comfort and benefit from those things I had treasured so much.
Donating treasured things once they're no longer useful to you to people who need them will give you far more feel good moments than the few dollars you could get for them.
September 4, 2009 at 5:47 p.m. ( permalink | suggest removal )