Motherhood is a Mean, Dirty Trick

I am a total wreck today.  This really doesn’t make sense.  I mean, there’s really no reason for it.  Today started out fairly well, with beautiful weather and a trip to the Y for DD2’s swim lesson.  My mom is in town, and volunteered to take her to the swimming class, so I took DD1 out to the playground for some fresh air.  We had a lovely morning.  I even knitted a row or two.  Afterwards, the girls and I stopped at a grocery for a few things, and then they went over my mom’s for the afternoon.  I’m free!!

I have a nice list of Tasks that I’m Finally Getting Around to Doing.  I actually have the time (all afternoon) to do them, and no kids to impede me from getting them done.  Most importantly, I don’t have any kids here UNdoing previous tasks while I try to DO other ones.  That, in and of itself, is a HUGE advantage.

So, why then am I a total wreck, you ask?  On a day that started out so auspiciously, why is it that I’m currently sobbing into my keyboard and holding buckets (not really) under my sniffly nose?

Clothes, that’s why.

Clothing normally makes me sad, because it’s generally more expensive than I want to pay on top of being totally unflattering- if I can squeeze into it at all, that is.  But I’m not talking about my clothing.  No, I’m talking about the pile of now-it’s-too-small clothing that my kids wore.  This is the stuff that, when it comes out of the laundry and I realize it no longer fits, goes into a basket of Things to Eventually Put In The Attic.  And top of my list of  Tasks that I’m Finally Getting Around to Doing is — you guessed it — taking the Things to Eventually Put In The Attic upstairs.

So, I lugged my basket, plus a few other stray attic-bound things, up the drop-down ladder.  I had my nifty little Petzl lamp on to see in the dark corners and boxes.  If you think that’s funny, then just go away, because it is totally practical and everyone who has ever made fun of me for wearing it when not actually cavediving has eaten his words, and most of them have one now, too.  Nyah.

Anyway, I’m putting these clothes away, right?  I’m trying to go fast, because the attic was pretty warm, and getting hotter the longer I was up there.  I got through most of DD1’s size 4Ts, which are now too small as she is quite tall for her age, and hit the pile of DD2’s 18-month stuff.  And that’s when everything went to shit.   At first I was like, “awww!  Look how cute!  I remember when she wore this one!” That quickly gave way to “*sniff*!  She’s grown so much since she last wore this thing!”  This was immediately followed by “BWWWWAAAAHHHH… I might never put these little clothes on a little baby again!  BWWWWAAAHHHH!  SOBBB!! SSOOOBBBBB!”

My neighbors were out raking leaves at the time.  I wonder if they heard these noises coming from my eaves.  If they did, they probably think my house is haunted by a discontent spirit.

So I had this sappy, emotional, insane (but cathartic) moment, all alone in the attic.  And I do feel a little cleansed afterwards, partly due to the fact that it was akin to sitting in a sauna up there in that attic and my pores are all nice and open.  But now, I wonder what it is about women that we feel everything with such painful clarity.  Our highs are HIGH.  Our lows are reeeallly looooowwww. This is true of many topics, as I remember feeling this way about things even before having children.  Somehow, though, the parent-child facet of emotions doubles or triples the intensity of them.

The most amazing thing is how an article of clothing can trigger these strong feelings.  It’s just further proof that I have no business doing laundry.  I’m going to quit immediately.


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