Bags of Memories

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I’m giving away my maternity clothes.

It’s the last “baby” thing left in our attic.

Really, it’s the last “baby” thing left in our whole house.

I pulled out 2 overflowing garbage bags and sorted through them to make sure all that was in them was set to be given away. Going through those clothes did make me a tad sentimental, but only to a point.  I had miserable pregnancies, so seeing those clothes didn’t exactly bring pleasant, happy memories to mind. But those clothes tell their own stories just the same.

Like the perfect (maternity) little black dress that I wore to Marisa & Geoff’s wedding when I was 17 weeks pregnant with Kate.  We flew back to Chicago for the wedding, and it turned out to be one of our last vacations-of-sorts as a couple. I wore that dress again at 39 weeks pregnant with Kate, as a guest at Amber and Chris’ wedding.  I was so pregnant at that point I had returned my RSVP card with an asterisk and conditional clause.

Then there was the fun green tank top I wore when my best friend, Kat, came to visit.  We toured Sun Studio that day, ate some key lime pie on Beale Street and went to a matinee movie. And how could I ever forget the maternity bathing suit I got to wear for our weekend spent with friends on Kentucky Lake, or the cute denim skirt that I wish wasn’t so obviously maternity because I’d wear it now.

Oh, and the flattering pink top I wore to one of my baby showers. Those sensible, yet appropriate “work” shirts for the days I actually went into the office while pregnant with Kate. The black sweater with just enough stretch…that got just a tad too short by the end. The gauzy and oh-so-comfortable black pants (that I still wear to this day).

I had good intentions to use the warm & cozy nursing pajamas I bought because Kate was a winter baby and I envisioned many chilly nighttime nursing sessions. Too bad nursing didn’t last.

Then the turtle neck sweaters I bought to survive our tundra of a New Hampshire winter during Maddie’s pregnancy, and then those…

The fact of the matter is, it doesn’t really matter whether I enjoyed my pregnancies or not.   Those clothes still have their own stories to tell.

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