Last night I tackled Samuel's pile of clothing. It had really gotten to a stage where every time I looked at his laundry pile I shuddered and went to eat chocolate instead. Before I explain how I handled it, and why, let me tell you how it got this bad in the first place.
It's no shock that David and I are poor. I mean, a church secretary and a ministerial student who works at a gas station are not rolling in dough! We welcomed Samuel into our lives at a very tumultuous time, living away from everyone and everything we knew (12 hours away, to be precise, from our closest family member) and we had no help during the pregnancy or birth, and about 4 days of help from my mother and sister after coming home from the hospital. We were woefully unprepared for parenthood, despite having read all the books we could, peppering our fertile friends with questions, practicing putting diapers on stuffed animals and sitting through a terrible videotaped birth in our prenatal class. We had no idea what we were doing.
It took me 15 tearful minutes to change the first diaper. I think I cried more than Samuel did.
And all of this combined to produce a sense of panic in us. Anything that people were willing to hand down to us, we accepted. It didn't matter if we needed it, if we already have five of the same thing, whatever, we took it. Which is how we have a convertible crib/bassinette, a pack 'n play and a full sized crib that turns into a toddler bed. How we have a Jolly Jumper, an Exersaucer, four baby carriers, three strollers, two carseats (no car, but 2 carseats!) three playmats, an entire adult sized five shelf bokcase full of baby books, several buckets of toys, a rocking chair, something like 10 blankets, 5 crib sheets, a nursing pillow, a disgusting number of stuffed animals, a breast pump, bottles, sippy cups, special toddler plates, a Baby Bullet food system, three special trays to freeze baby food cubes in, and, up until last night, an obscene number of clothes.
After I had thrown out all of the stained, ripped and otherwise unwearable stuff (Buzz Lightyear pajamas? Who gave us Buzz Lightyear pajamas?) and separated the 'too small' clothes to pack away, Samuel had a total of 44 long sleeved and 40 short sleeved shirts that fit him.
The clothes issue had been a big one for me. I literally had no idea how I would clothe my baby when I discovered I was pregnant. I could barely afford the pregnancy test itself, let alone the numerous clothes that everyone told me I simply MUST get for a little one. All I had to go by was my next door neighbour whose advice was to get more than you think you need and that she loved Snugaby sleepers because the feet folded back, allowing a bit more wear. And What To Expect While You're Expecting, that gave me a strange list of short sleeved sleepers and long sleeved undershirts and a variety of other bits of clothing that I couldn't even recognize. I'd never heard of 'sleep sacks' before. What the heck is a sleep sack? Put me in the middle of a graduate Victorian literature class or deep in the bowels of a university research library and I could find my way around without too much trouble, but this was uncharted territory. And the more I read, the more terrified I became. Apparently, some clothes can KILL YOUR BABY if they're too loose, or not sprayed with fire-retardant, or sprayed with fire-retardant, or un-organic or BAH, any number of crazy things!
So every mama I met gave me bags of free baby clothes, and I took all of them, no matter how much I disliked them, and I washed and dried everything and folded it up and stacked it away and when Samuel came I used them all, despite having probably waaaaay too much of everything and some of it not very good stuff. Because I didn't know any better.
And as Samuel got older I couldn't throw anything away, so the piles kept getting bigger. I firmly believe that hoarders are probably all recovering from poverty of some kind. I just bought giant plastic storage bins and I put all the stuff that didn't fit him in those and kept taking hand me downs from everyone. Garbage bags full of clothes. I filled his dresser, his closet, the floor of his closet, the drawer under his crib, some of my dresser, several large boxes, a huge steamer trunk and the seat of his rocking chair to a height of at least a foot.
Finally I cracked a bit. I realized that Samuel has never once gone hungry. He has never once been forced to run around naked because I didn't have something for him to wear. He has never been cold, without shoes or a snowsuit, forced to sleep on the floor or any number of other things I worried about needlessly. He slept in a $300 crib, wore Osh Kosh clothing, and ate homemade organic baby food. Perhaps I needed to let go, just a little?
I was surprised last night at how difficult it was to do just that. To take his clothes and look at them and admit that yes, there was still a lot of wear in that, it was super cute, and I wasn't going to keep it. I was going to give it away to someone else who needed it. To confess, in my actions and not just with my words, that God had taken care of us, and he would continue to take care of us, no matter how many children we were blessed with or how poor we became. It was hard work and I took several breaks, giving myself a chance to breathe and get a glass of water and come back to it, but not letting myself turn my back on this difficult task. I ended up with a pile of clothes. Samuel's 44 long sleeved shirts are now 14, and his tee-shirts are down to 8 from 40. I can sit on that rocking chair now in his room, I can close the drawers of his dresser. It is hard work, but this cleaning out of our closets is an act of faith.
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