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. 
#normal

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.












No comments