Yesterday I put away all of Kit’s newborn things. She’s outgrown them since she’s been in the hospital. Most of them were worn at least once–if not by her, by one of her big sisters–but it still felt like I lost that time, that entire month of her in the hospital.
I don’t consider myself a materialistic or sentimental person but I am intensely emotional about baby clothes. These soft, worn, first things, reminders of how small their bodies are (or were). Hopefully folding, hopefully sorting into drawers.
I don’t feel hopeful. Some days, like today, I wonder if Kit will ever come home. Still I go into the basement, bring up a pile of clothes I had put away when my 2 year old outgrew them, clothes played in and slept in and washed so many times.
I tucked them into Kit’s dresser, waiting for her, like we are all waiting for her.