Sentimentality Strikes Again

A few months ago I worked through the emotionally difficult journey of bidding farewell to all things baby in our home -- clothes, most importantly. I was a bit surprised at how hard it hit, making the conscious decision to have no more children and moving on from there. Cleaning out bin after bin of clothing -- 0-3m, 6-9m, 2T, and so on -- was bittersweet, smiling at each little outfit, remembering either Aidan or Grace at that particular age, and then placing each little shirt, each tiny pair of pants, in a big plastic bag. It was hard, but I did it, with no regrets.

Over the past couple of weeks I embarked on another phase of weeding out, this one proving to be much easier. Our apartment is small, and we have as much of our belongings as we can possibly fit in here, with no extra room to spare. We had to be selective in deciding which pieces we wanted to live with, and the rest is currently furnishing an upstairs apartment in my uncle's home, used occasionally when my cousin and her family comes to visit, enabling them to now have their own private quarters. Don gave me a quick tutorial in operating Craigslist and I set to work, selecting certain items that we just do not need, or can be replaced in the future if need be. Tough choices need to be made -- especially for a pack rat like me.

So far it hasn't been too bad and we've made a few bucks, selling our fire pit, a pair of funky lamps, and so on. I was on a roll. But then today hit me a little harder, and I wasn't quite prepared for the wave of sentimentality that washed over me. I just sold a rocking chair and pocketed $25.

But it wasn't just any rocking chair.
It was a chair that we purchased when I was pregnant with Aidan, in anticipation of his arrival.
It was a chair for which we hunted high and low, just the perfect size for both myself and for Don.
It was Mission-style, more to our liking than some other versions.
And most importantly, it was a chair in which I spent many, many, many hours rocking my baby.

The buyer called, saying he was on his way. I went out onto the porch and looked at the chair. Suddenly and very unexpectedly I got choked up. I was back in the "nursery" -- Aidan's room -- my boy is crying, struggling to sleep ... again. I pick him up and he instantly snuggles in a way that was unique to him. I sit and rock, and rock, and rock. I know I got frustrated -- angry, even -- at the wasted time, or at least time that I deemed wasted then. "Why can't you sleep?!" I would cry back to him. How many times did I look at those many hours as a loss, feeling frantic and upset and -- yes, even selfish -- wanting time to myself instead of that constant gluing to my baby? All in that chair ...

Now my boy is made of bony corners and gangling limbs, still fitting on my lap but certainly not in that snuggly baby way. And his lap-time with me now is rare. How many mothers look back and wish for that "wasted" time again? So much time spent in that chair ...

Before the buyer came I rocked in the chair for a while. I could almost smell that wonderful baby smell, as Aidan's silky head would rest on my shoulder, those fabulously soft squeezable arms and legs positioned just right, that perfect sound baby breathing. I rocked by myself today, sorely missing those moments. All in that chair ... and now the chair is gone.

Yes, sentimentality struck again. I guess I was due for a few choked up, glistening-eyed moments again. It's not a bad thing, though -- it's really not. It's a good reminder of how much love a heart can hold.