It’s just stuff, I keep telling myself. Stuff we don’t need. Stuff other people could use. Stuff that could bring us a little money.
Stuff that’s causing me a lot of anxiety. Baby stuff. And not just baby stuff that once belonged to our toddler, but baby stuff that was supposed to belong to her – the one we lost almost a year ago.
Most of the stuff is hidden from sight in the garage, but every once in awhile I come across something still in the house. Yesterday, it was my breast pump. I hated that thing. I was so fucking happy be done with pumping. I can still remember how relieved and free I felt when I packed everything up for the last time… until the next time I would (hopefully) need it. Now, it’s just a painful reminder that there won’t ever be a next time.
While the stuff itself is hidden inside containers, I know it’s there. Everyday, I walk by it at least twice. Sometimes my eye catches the labels: bibs, bottles, swaddlers….. Sometimes a breeze coming through the opened garage door moves the sheet covering the larger items and reveals a bright green section of an Exersaucer. But mostly it’s just knowing that the stuff is there, waiting for a baby that isn’t coming.
We’ll get rid of it eventually. Maybe we’ll try selling some of it, or maybe we’ll just give it all away to a family (or two) in need.
But that’s in the future. I can’t bring myself to part with it just yet, even though I know it’s just stuff.