I was tucking Sprout in on one of those rare nights when she actually let me tuck her in. I turned on her noise machine--the one that plays ocean sounds that she has been using since she was first born to help her get to sleep. She suddenly bolted up, pointed at it and said, "off". She had outgrown the noise machine.
We took down the last baby gate in the house. The covers have come off of the oven knobs. The colored blocks I used to motivate the Bean to crawl sat in a pile with slightly chewed board books ready to be donated. These are the last vestigaes of my kids' lives as babies. Each milestone we pass and each thing we remove from our house is another piece of their childhood that will never come back. When we dismantle the swing and take the high chair to the curb, I realize that I will never use them again.
We took down the last baby gate. And as the covers are taken off doorknobs and as locks are removed from cupboards, I realize that these are the last vestiges of my kids’ lives as babies. Each milestone we pass, each thing we remove from our house is another piece of their childhood that we won’t get back. The last time we’ll need it. Sprout is the last child I will have and as she grows up and no longer needs baby things, they will be gone from my life forever.
I’m counting the day until we can get rid of the diaper genie.