Wednesday, December 03, 2003
Old Baby Clothes
I can't bring myself to give my baby's old clothes to Good Will.
We live in a small NYC apartment. Our closets are overflowing. But still I'm holding on to plastic bags of baby bibs, newborn onsies, and little caps. Why can't I can pitch the stuff? I love throwing things out. Ask my husband who grits his teeth as I purge his closet twice a year. Why can't I get rid of the old baby clothes?
There is some sentimental value associated with every stained t-shirt, sure. But I just can't admit that it's 100% certain that there won't be any more kids. Which is totally insane. We live in a four floor walk up. I couldn't get three kids up and down. And it is impossible to even have a half time job with three kids. And I'm 38, which means a high risk of birth defects, less energy, and a long amnio needle.
Yesterday, I read parts of Ann Chittenden's book on the price of motherhood. Having another kid could bankrupt us.
But, you say, have another kid and they'll take care of you in your old age. It's an investment. Oh sure. One of my kids will probably end up as a high powered lawyer travelling around the world, too busy to make me some grandchildren. He never calls. He never writes. sniff. The other kid will be the pothead in the basement. He'll work a couple of landscaping jobs but it will all go to weed, rather than paying us rent. He'll hang out all day listening to Floyd and bring over his deadbeat friends.
Only someone truly insane would make a choice to have kids. Only someone driven by some irrational need would have a problem tossing stained baby bibs.
I can't bring myself to give my baby's old clothes to Good Will.
We live in a small NYC apartment. Our closets are overflowing. But still I'm holding on to plastic bags of baby bibs, newborn onsies, and little caps. Why can't I can pitch the stuff? I love throwing things out. Ask my husband who grits his teeth as I purge his closet twice a year. Why can't I get rid of the old baby clothes?
There is some sentimental value associated with every stained t-shirt, sure. But I just can't admit that it's 100% certain that there won't be any more kids. Which is totally insane. We live in a four floor walk up. I couldn't get three kids up and down. And it is impossible to even have a half time job with three kids. And I'm 38, which means a high risk of birth defects, less energy, and a long amnio needle.
Yesterday, I read parts of Ann Chittenden's book on the price of motherhood. Having another kid could bankrupt us.
But, you say, have another kid and they'll take care of you in your old age. It's an investment. Oh sure. One of my kids will probably end up as a high powered lawyer travelling around the world, too busy to make me some grandchildren. He never calls. He never writes. sniff. The other kid will be the pothead in the basement. He'll work a couple of landscaping jobs but it will all go to weed, rather than paying us rent. He'll hang out all day listening to Floyd and bring over his deadbeat friends.
Only someone truly insane would make a choice to have kids. Only someone driven by some irrational need would have a problem tossing stained baby bibs.
