With as frequently as the sad days descend around here, I pride myself on how hard I work to avoid the pity parties. For every weak day I share with all of you, there are hundreds more weak moments that I force myself past with a stiff upper lip. And then when I just cave in and need a day to feel sad and worried, I never indulge myself too long. I know I need to feel my feelings, but I also don’t want to spend a lot of time on things that won’t solve any problems.
So, with that being my focus I set about kicking my gloom this weekend. I did my usual routine of indulging in things that bring me pleasure, I slept in, watched lots of lame movies, and then decided to tackle a smallish but nagging project so that I could feel like I had accomplished something. We picked up a bunch of plastic bins from Target, I busted out the good old P-Touch labelmaker, and I went through everything in Atti’s closet to see what still fit and what could be packed away.
As I was folding all those tiny clothes, I couldn’t help but get nostalgic about where he’s been. All the preemie clothes that we dressed him in in the hospital, threaded over tubes and wires; the clothes we were given from friends and marveled at, thinking he would never fit; the clothes that were permanently stained with spitup from the months and months we tried to get him to eat and keep it down despite the acid reflux. All those things that terrified me last year, are no longer an issue. He’s faced all those early threats and tackled them, I have no doubt that he’ll just keep right on going.
And then, if I needed another reason to kick off the self-pity, yesterday Atti decided to crawl:
Maybe he realized he was starting to freak Mama out and it was time to stop playing around.