When your last baby, is no longer a baby at all.

Erin here!

Dante Lennon is now four.
He is my last baby, and that is a reason to celebrate and a reason to go cry in my closet and smell all his old onsies. 

Dante Lennon is my last baby. 
One of two.
Seven years apart.
The baby who almost never was.

Dante Lennon was originally a triplet.
He tried to escape many, many times.
He entered at 36 weeks, 7 pounds, 11 ounces.
Let it be was playing.
He was perfection.
He is perfection.
He is the last one.
And that's ok.

I do not want anymore babies, but yet, there is definitely a deep rooted, subconscious instinct to keep creating, ya know?
As I clean out dressers and closets and toy boxes, I am finding it hard to let go. Let go of binkes, and blankies, and baby toys.

I am not a baby girl.
Your baby is so very cute, and no I do not want to hold it.
So why do I feel this way?

It is fine,
I am fine.
We are fine.
I will frame hospital bracelets, and ink blot foot prints.
I will hide away first blankets and holiday outfits for my son's future children.
I will cheers to the future.