A year ago, when I finally allowed myself to start looking at baby clothes, I was amazed at how tiny everything was. Little pants and socks, onesies that were no wider than my hand. Dresses that could have fit some of the dolls I had growing up.
When K arrived, even her newborn clothes looked huge. She was a little peanut; the 0-3 month sleeper I naively brought to the hospital could have fit another baby as well. It took a solid week before she stopped swimming in everything we put on her; at least two before the tabs on her newborn diapers stopped overlapping.
Now I’m staring 2014 in the face, and with that comes the need to pack up some boxes to put into storage. K is in 3-6 month clothes now, and all of her newborn and 0-3 month outfits need to be retired. But as I fold each little sleeper, as I tuck another tiny onesie into the box, I hold back sniffles. I can remember her wearing each and every one of these things. And she will never be that tiny again.
(her first pair of pants vs the ones she’s in now)
I can pack these things away, in hopes that one day another newborn might wear them. And if I manage to deal with the PTSD surrounding K’s birth, and we decide to give her a sibling, there’s a good chance that these clothes might make another appearance. But just the act of packing them away, of seeing the first months of my first baby’s life fly by, makes my heart ache a little.
I’m so excited for what the next months have to bring. I can’t wait to see her grow and change, to develop her personality. I know that tiny clothes aren’t forever, and that they are only a small part of who she is. So I fold each sleeper, smooth the wrinkles out of each onesie, and know that despite my emotions, everything is going to be just fine.