We're having some work done on the house so naturally my husband JakeRyan is in super-duper annoying organizer mode. And like the heartless ass-hat he is during these jags, he once again pleaded with his hoarder wife to donate the 15 baby blankets we had collecting dust in Natalie's closet. Jerk.
"I just can't bear parting with these," I said. "Somebody spent a lot of time knitting them."
"Who?" he replied. Dead silence...
"I don't remember. I think Mrs. O'Riordan, but that's not the point." So the blankets got donated.
Ryan wanted to see what was in his baby box so we spent a few minutes sifting through hospital bracelets, first locks of hair, his first blankie, stuff he made in preschool and a teeny tiny pacifier. His box was chock-full. First kid.
Natalie's box had a little less, but mostly the same stuff, a little bikini and a old crusty hot pink pacifier.
Of course, being #3, Justin's box was nearly empty. It was pitiful. We put some stuff in. I hope it was his.
After an hour of this I was feeling uncharacteristically sentimental. Packing up baby stuff is HARD when you know there are no more kids for you. Hooray! So in an unprecedented move, I got up and walked into the other room, hugged my husband and made a little sound like a whining puppy. I also may have also jutted my lip out all sad-like. Not that he saw me because my head was buried in his big hairy chest. He had a shirt on, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to harp on his Sasquatch-ishness.
"What's wrong with YOU?" he asked.
"Wah, I'm sad that we're never going to have any more babies."
"Well if you turn around now you can at least see your 5-year-old daughter sucking on a pacifier."
And yes, it squashed my baby fever really quick. That thing has been sitting in a baby box for over 3 years. Gross!