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Time Marches On

© Donna Lauritzen

My son turned one year old on September 3rd. While I looked forward to this milestone with great anticipation, I also felt sadness, knowing that, once his magical day arrived, summer's end would soon follow. I think we had our last warm (read: 80's F) weather this past week. A cool front has moved in, and overnight temperatures have even dropped into the 40's F!

While I could try to delude myself into thinking that William WILL be able to wear those cute shorts and tank tops again this year, I decided not to do so. His dresser has been overflowing all summer, and I decided it was time to start making room for sweatpants and jeans and sweatshirts. I dreaded this day as much as I looked forward to his first birthday. Armed with a couple of diaper boxes (yes, I use 'sposies! I'm an AP mama, but not necessarily earth-friendly or natural!), and some Kleenex, I went into Will's room to tackle the chaos I refer to as his dresser. I decided beforehand that I would leave a few pairs of shorts and shirts in there, "just in case," but ALL of the tank tops and "jon-jons" would be put away, no questions asked. I did well at first, tossing t shirts and shorts into my boxes. I hesitated when I saw my favorite summer outfit: a green and blue tank top and a pair of matching blue shorts, but I stayed strong, and put them in the box as well. Next I found Will's "jon-jon's" ... those adorable sleeveless one piece short sets. I almost buckled under the pressure, remembering how sweet he looked in each and every one of them, but with a lump in my throat, those, too, found their way into the box.

I was doing fairly well, considering that I was packing away most of the clothes that my first born child wore during his very first summer. Though I'd come close, I hadn't shed one single tear! Then I saw it. It was underneath some summer clothes that didn't fit Will, but to that point had never found their way to " the boxes." There is was: a powder blue "onsie," size 0-3 months. I have no idea how this tiny little t-shirt had escaped "the boxes" until now. This tiny shirt hadn't fit my son in over 9 months, so how is it that it had never been packed away? Maybe I'd left it there as a tiny reminder of how small and fragile he once was, or maybe I just couldn't bear to part with every single "memento" of his first few weeks of life. Whatever the reason that it had escaped "the boxes" until this time, there it was, staring me in the face, a sweet reminder of the tiny infant I held just one year ago.

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