Crying...just a little

Or a whole lot, if we're honest.

I am going through my daughters old clothes. Which sounds like a mundane task, and it should be a mundane task, but instead it's a heartbreaking one.

I am making a pile of all of Chloe's old clothes to give away, cause she's growing and no matter how much I ask her to stop, she just keep growing. Serena too, apparently my children don't want to obey the "never grow up, okay?" request I make of them often.

And the pile makes me cry, and the fact that I am giving them away makes me cry even more. The fact that I have no more babies to save them for, which is why I am giving them away, is heartbreaking.

Most of the clothes in the pile made it through both my kids, and I can remember how both of them looked in the outfits...and where we went in those outfits, and the memories made in those outfits. And now they are leaving my house, for good.

I am pretty sure we're done having kids, which some days feels like a good, right, smart thing to do. And other days, like today it feels like I am saying goodbye to a wonderful time in my life. Like I am waving as a dear old friend sails away on a boat, a friend whom I will never meet again.

I am trying my hardest to have a great attitude about no more kids, trying to remember to be "full" with the blessings God has given me and to stop wishing I was getting more. And really looking ahead to working again doesn't bother me. I am happy to be heading where I am heading, but sad to be leaving where I am leaving.

I always hoped I'd know when I was "done". And it would be a matter-of-fact feeling deep in my heart, but it's not. I feel like I am sort of resigned to it, rather than accepting of it.

And maybe I shouldn't ever sort through my children's' old clothes ever again when I am only days from my monthly visit from Aunt Flo. Because, I don't need any other reasons to want to cry about everything and nothing this week.