Once again, the hallway is scattered with pebbles from the school playground. As I sweep them up, my broom snags on a familiar navy strap hanging from the backpack hooks. Untangling them, I recognize it instantly: my toddler carrier, long neglected among my four kids’ backpacks and purse. Despite the passage of over a year since I last used it, I can’t bring myself to sell, donate, or store this item. And this isn’t just an issue with one baby-related item; I find it difficult to part with anything associated with my children’s infancy.
I am certainly busy with four adopted children. My oldest is now a tween, and my second oldest is on the verge of joining the same club. My son will soon be seven—he’s a first grader now—and my youngest daughter just celebrated her third birthday and started preschool. Our household is large, lively, and filled with love.
As an adoptive family, we didn’t experience any unexpected pregnancies. Each child joined us through a well-thought-out plan. The first three came within a short span of four years, meaning I had to navigate life with an infant, a toddler, and a preschooler all at once.
Any parent knows that having kids means your home quickly fills up with their belongings. Baby gear is particularly cumbersome—think exersaucers, swings, and bouncy seats. Once they transition into toddlers, toys invade every nook and cranny, often ending up strewn across the floor despite our best efforts to organize them neatly in bins.
Children are notorious for accumulating more stuff wherever they go. A trip to the store might end with a handful of stickers, or a visit to a birthday party results in a collection of party favors. These trinkets, often just cheap pieces of candy, somehow become their most treasured possessions, leaving us at a loss when we attempt to discreetly throw them away.
As more kids join the fray, the clutter only intensifies, transforming our home into a chaotic play area. It’s not just toys that overwhelm us; blankets, pillows, and even stray clothing seem to multiply. Most of my friends’ living rooms resemble disaster zones until we reach our breaking point and engage in a massive cleaning spree. That purge feels cathartic but lasts only a couple of days before chaos returns.
Yet, despite the whirlwind of four children and their belongings, remnants of babyhood linger throughout our home. These items have become bittersweet reminders that our family is likely complete. Instead of accepting this reality, I leave the baby items exactly where they were when each child last used them—holding onto the past while resisting the inevitable changes ahead.
In our guest room, the top of the toilet hosts a candle, an extra roll of toilet paper, and five children’s books we kept from the days of potty training. These board books, designed for little hands, feature cartoon animals triumphantly learning to use the bathroom.
In our hallway, nestled among the backpacks, lies a small closet crammed with tiny shoes and winter gear that look like they belong in a dollhouse. I should really let these go, but then I remember those pink and black mittens, worn by all four of my kids. I can picture the snowball fights, the snow angels, and the laughter shared as they clumsily waddled through the winter wonderland.
My youngest just turned three, and as I glance around her room, I see traces of her babyhood that I struggle to put away. While I cherish her blossoming independence, I also long for the days when I rocked her to sleep, swaddled her tight, and offered her a pacifier. I hesitate to donate pacifiers, part with baby toys, or give keepsakes to my sister for her own children.
I know I’m in denial, but at least I’m acknowledging it, right? I’ve come to terms with being the older mom at preschool drop-off, surrounded by expectant mothers and those with toddlers in strollers. They wait for their eldest children to emerge from school, while I stand waiting for my youngest.
While I appreciate not having to carry around a heavy diaper bag, worry about bottles or diapers, or scrub spit-up from my clothes, I also relish certain aspects of motherhood. My daughter can now climb into her car seat, proudly declare she can buckle herself, and express strong preferences about what to wear—especially her beloved strawberry-hued hair bow. She’s potty trained, flushing and washing her hands all by herself. Still, I keep the potty books nearby, just in case.
You might think I’d be celebrating this newfound freedom, but I’m instead filled with nostalgia. I cling to the baby bathtub, the small washcloths, and nursery decorations. The thought of storing baby items, donating clothes that no longer fit, or packing away the carrier feels premature. I realize this may sound selfish, but I’m simply not ready yet.
I know I’m not alone in this struggle. Many of my friends are also grappling with the decision of whether or not to expand their families. The thought of starting anew feels daunting at this stage in our lives. What’s the key to embracing the size of your family? I haven’t figured that out yet, but one thing is clear: I’m not ready to put away the baby stuff just yet.
If you’re navigating similar feelings, you might find additional insights on family planning in this related blog post. For those seeking guidance on fertility, Make a Mom is a trusted resource, and you can also explore valuable information on female infertility support.
Summary:
This reflective piece explores a mother’s emotional struggle with letting go of baby items as her family expands. Despite the joyful chaos of raising four adopted children, she grapples with the realization that they may be done having babies. The article captures the bittersweet nature of parenting, the nostalgia tied to childhood belongings, and the ongoing debate among friends about whether to add to their families.