I have a real struggle when it comes to decluttering. It might even be a bit of a problem. But a few months ago, encouraged by a friend, I began to see that our cozy home was filled to the brim with items we simply didn’t need anymore. The most embarrassing part? It was all baby stuff, despite the fact that my kids were no longer babies.
The wake-up call came when a friend stopped by to pick up her son after a playdate. Standing in my 5-year-old’s room, she exclaimed, “Wow, there are so many baby toys here!” And she was right. The cheerful room was overflowing with large, colorful, and noisy toys designed for infants. There were big yellow trucks parked in the corner, a bin overflowing with mini pianos, wooden puzzles, a ball-and-hammer toy, interlocking rings, and even a forgotten pacifier.
A wave of sadness and anxiety washed over me. My husband and I had spent countless hours playing on the floor in our sweatpants with our boys, making memories with all these toys. Back then, time felt different; weekends were free from the rush of soccer practice, birthday parties, and other commitments. Our main focus was to play, respect naptime, cuddle, and drink copious amounts of coffee. We could embrace the chaos of our appearance, showing up in outfits that doubled as pajamas, holes and all.
But time marched on. My 8-year-old can now do multiplication, and my 5-year-old is curious about how the Earth revolves around the sun. They’ve transformed into little individuals, and the days of lounging around in sweatpants are behind us. We’re expected to wear actual pants now, which is a sign of growing up.
Yet, there’s still the little tricycle, the baby basketball hoop, and the tiny slide lingering in our home. I knew I had to let go of some of this stuff to maintain an image of sanity. But how could I part with the baby basketball hoop? Those were the days of diaper-clad toddlers zooming around the backyard, beaming with joy! It felt cruelly ironic that just when we had finally figured out the baby phase, we no longer needed all this gear. We had conquered bedtime struggles, exhaustion, messy diapers, and public tantrums, and now it seemed we were left with a house full of reminders of that fleeting time.
My husband and I decided to tackle the cleanup together, starting with our 5-year-old. “I’m ready for my big boy room!” he proclaimed, eager to embrace change. As we sorted through the toys, he began to play with everything, making vrooming sounds and declaring he wanted to keep them all—just not in his room. This led to a designated spot for baby toys in our garage (for his sake, not mine).
I come by my sentimental hoarding honestly. When my sister was pregnant with the first grandchild, my mom sent boxes of our old toys from Maryland to California. Some of those toys were relics from her own childhood, still in pristine condition! My sister and I delightedly reminisced as we cradled each toy, capturing pictures with them. One of my favorites is the one where I’m happily grinning with my sister, my old baby bib hilariously tied around my adult neck.
After reliving those memories, we panicked, realizing that these toys were now our responsibility. It’s clearly a family trait. Just recently, I received a package from Maryland containing my wisdom teeth, roots intact, from 25 years ago.
As we continued cleaning, we came across our trusty Bob jogging stroller. Bob took up a lot of room in our bedroom, but he was our companion through countless adventures. He accompanied us on early morning strolls to Starbucks, chaotic attempts at stroller naps, trips to the farmer’s market, Disneyland, and the zoo—he had been through it all.
As I examined Bob, I found a smooth pebble my son had picked up a few years back tucked in his pocket. Could I really part with him? I convinced myself it was ridiculous to hold on to a stroller purely for sentimental reasons.
My husband listed Bob on Craigslist, and soon, a lovely woman named Mia showed up with her husband to claim him. As they wheeled Bob out, I struggled to keep my emotions in check. Mia noticed my expression and said, “Don’t worry. He’s going to a good home. I totally get how attached we can become to our baby things.”
Her words struck a chord: two losses—both the things and the babies. She articulated why it was so hard for me to say goodbye to all this baby gear. Knowing she understood made parting with Bob a little easier. While I may not have babies to hold anymore, I found comfort in knowing Bob would begin a new journey. Goodbye, Bob. We cherished every beautiful, chaotic, and exhausting moment with you. You will be missed.
And now, I just need to figure out what to do with my wisdom teeth.
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Summary
This article shares a heartfelt journey of a mother grappling with the challenge of letting go of baby items long after her children have grown. Through nostalgic memories and the bittersweet realization of time passing, she navigates the emotional complexity of decluttering while cherishing the moments spent with her kids.