I’ve always struggled to let go of things. I think it might be a little out of control. But a few months back, a friend helped me realize just how cluttered our small house had become. The most awkward part? It wasn’t just any old clutter—it was an avalanche of baby gear. And I no longer had any babies.
The wake-up call hit me hard when my friend came over to pick up her son after a playdate. Standing in my 5-year-old’s room, she bluntly remarked, “Wow, there are a lot of baby toys here!” It was painfully true. The bright, cheerful room was stuffed with oversized, noisy, colorful toys meant for infants. A gigantic yellow truck was parked in one corner, while a plastic bin overflowed with mini pianos, wooden puzzles, a ball-and-hammer toy, interlocking rings, and even a stray pacifier.
I felt a wave of sadness and anxiety wash over me. My husband and I had spent endless hours lounging in our sweatpants, engaging with our baby boys and all of this stuff. Back then, time felt different. Our weekends were free from the rush of soccer games, tennis lessons, or birthday parties. Our sole responsibility was to play, respect naptime, snuggle, and consume copious amounts of coffee. Looking disheveled was totally acceptable; outfits that resembled pajamas, complete with holes, made regular appearances.
But now, my babies have grown. My 8-year-old is mastering multiplication, and my 5-year-old is asking profound questions about the earth’s rotation. These tiny beings have morphed into little people. Time is marching on, and those sweatpants days are behind us. We’re expected to wear real pants now.
Yet the baby items linger—the tricycle, the baby basketball hoop, the small slide! I knew I had to declutter, at least for the sake of appearing somewhat sane. But what about the memories of diapered babies laughing in the backyard? And isn’t it ironic that just as we figured out the whole baby-raising thing, it all became unnecessary? We conquered the challenges of bedtime, exhaustion, and public meltdowns, only to realize that we no longer needed to. Yet…the stuff remained.
My husband and I decided to start the process by asking our 5-year-old if he wanted to help. “Yes!” he exclaimed, “I’m ready for my big boy room!” As we began sorting through toys, he got busy making sound effects and announced that he wanted to keep everything—just not in his room. So, we awkwardly designated a space for the baby toys in our garage (for his benefit, not mine).
I come by my sentimental hoarding honestly. When my sister was pregnant with the family’s first grandchild, my mom sent boxes of our old baby toys from Maryland to California. These boxes contained not only our childhood toys but also some from my mother’s own childhood, still intact! A doll from the 1950s came with items from my era, like ancient baby dishes and even a baby chew toy that could be dangerous by today’s standards.
As we reminisced about the old toys, we panicked, realizing that while they had left my mother’s hands, they were now our responsibility. This seems to run in the family. I had a similar moment when a package arrived from Maryland containing my wisdom teeth—roots still attached—extracted 25 years ago.
Next on our decluttering agenda was the Bob jogger stroller. It was taking up a significant amount of space in our bedroom, but Bob had been a true companion. He joined us on countless adventures—from early morning strolls to Starbucks to trips to Disneyland. I rummaged through his pocket and found a smooth pebble my son had collected years ago. Could I truly let go of Bob? It felt a bit crazy to keep a stroller purely for sentimental reasons.
My husband listed Bob on Craigslist. Just days later, a lovely woman named Sarah and her partner came to pick him up. As they wheeled Bob out the door, I tried to mask the emotions on my face. Sarah noticed and said, “Don’t worry. He’s going to a good home. I know how attached we can get to things that have been part of our lives.”
Her words resonated, emphasizing the dual loss of both the items and the babies they once cradled. Acknowledging that connection made parting with Bob a tad easier. I won’t have any more babies to hold, but Bob would continue to bring joy to another family. Farewell, Bob. We cherished every moment with you—both magical and chaotic. You will be missed dearly.
Now I just have to figure out what to do with my wisdom teeth.
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In summary, letting go of baby items can be a daunting emotional task, but it’s also an essential step in moving forward. As our children grow, we have to learn to release the remnants of their babyhood while cherishing the memories we created together.
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