Our family recently moved…twice. And somewhere in between the boxes and whispered curse words, I caught a glimpse of nearly three years of loving sacrifice.
My husband had carefully stacked my drawers beside the dresser, and in that moment I felt exposed.
What am I still holding on?
Mothers with older children often tell me that the unmistakable longing for the little people who were will always be there.
It’s the cost of love.
So last night I took one final look at my well-loved garments – relics of nights spent with babes in arms…rocking.
I tell myself it’s not about the clothes. I tell myself it’s not about my pride. For I remember the excitement of that first trip to the maternity store.
And I know that one day, when the drawer becomes too full, the physical vestiges of young motherhood will disappear.
But the tiny arms that once squeezed so tight, they get to grow with me.
One Year Ago: Finding Hope in Our Homework