Saturday, September 21, 2013

Memoires from a consignment sale




This morning I woke up way too early (by my standards) and dragged my exhausted self to a local elementary school that houses our biyearly consignment sale. I belong to a “moms of multiples” group and this sale is a huge fundraiser. The sheer money we have saved over the years, shopping there, is incredible.
This year, my needs were small but significant. I needed outdoor winter gear for my kids. Sadly, I didn’t get much of what I needed, due to lack of selection in my kids’ size. Oh well. 

So, I was browsing the sale and found myself walking by the table with nursing pillows. Next to said table was a couple. The woman was sporting an impressive baby bump and the man was sporting eyes so wide and panicky that I couldn’t help but laugh. As the soon to be parents eyed the pillow suspiciously (not sure what they were waiting for it to do…) I walked alongside. 

Me: “I loved that pillow. It’s the best”
Woman: (with a bright and relieved smile) “Oh really? So it really works?”
Me: “Oh yeah. Totally”.
Man: (said nothing. Just stood there speechless)

And then another woman walked by entering the conversation. 

Other woman: “Oh yeah. I loved this pillow too!”
Man: (finally finding words) “But how do you pick them up at the same time to put them on?”
Me and Other woman: (accidentally speaking at the same time and laughing like crazy after the fact) “You scoop them!”

And we proceed to provide a visual demonstration of “scooping” two babies simultaneously, using both arms and words to explain. Just picture a baby lying with its feet facing you, and sliding your hands under the butt, up its back and under the head. Then, you bend down and lift both babies so their heads rest on your shoulders and stand back up. The fact that we were doing this sans baby made it even funnier.  It was a scene, I assure you! 

Man: (with a thoughtful expression) “But aren’t they too heavy?”
Me: “No. When they get too heavy to scoop, they can hold their heads up by themselves so it doesn’t matter as much.”
Man and Woman: (with awed expressions) “ohhhhhhhh”. 

For those of you that watch animated movies, the “ohhhhh” sounded like the 3 eyed Martians in the claw toy when Buzz Lightyear lands and they are worshipping him. That little ripple moving across their mouths. I kid you not.  

Approximately 5 years ago, that was my husband and me. Me, sporting the bump. Him, sporting the glazed and terrified expression. I remember staring at all the baby paraphernalia and wondering how anyone knew what to do with it all. It was overwhelming. I remember sweating even though it wasn’t hot. I remember the onset of a headache even though I wasn’t sick or particularly. My husband commented on being exceedingly thirsty despite having had plenty to drink. Amazing how anxiety takes over your body.

And now my kids are almost five. Where has the time gone? 

This time, as I passed the infant section, I paused for a moment to remember and reminisce. The tiny little pajamas that somehow fit my kids in a former life. The bottle carriers and swaddling blankets that no longer have any place in my life. The silly little musical toys that are no longer interesting. 

Let’s be honest. I don’t want more kids. I want my current kids, but I’m good with two. I don’t want three. My heart doesn’t ache for a new baby, despite my love of caring for other people’s babies. I am totally content to be the auntie and to pass that precious little bundle back when it’s time to go home. I love that my kids can walk on their own and be spoken to like people. I love that they clear their own plates from the table and can go fetch things for me when I don’t have hands. I love that I can send them down to the basement/playroom or outside to our fenced in backyard without direct supervision. It’s liberating. 

And I LOVE that they have the words to tell me what’s wrong. 

It’s somewhat like looking back on your high school years and reminiscing on the funny lunchroom conversations. I have no urge to be a high school student again, but I wouldn’t mind reliving just one lunch for posterity. 

And while this anxious couple doesn’t know it yet, five years from now it will be them. Giving the advice. Calmly joking about the baby scoop. Gazing emotionally at tiny clothing. 

In the meantime, I send them strength and patience for the hard times. And joy for the good ones.



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