I cleaned out my hallway storage chest today. It's a quick seasonal job, doesn't take long.
I ran across my baby sling. I really need to move the darn thing, because I run across it twice a year, and I always think the same thing: "I should give this away to a new mom, someone who really needs it."
Except then, as I hold it in my hands, I am flooded with this:
Babies. I miss the way they smell and the way they sound and the way they smile. I miss walking with baby cuddled close to my body, snug and warm. I miss shopping with a baby slung to my chest and little ones holding my hands. I miss round heads and little fingers. Chubby knees, fat feet, tiny ears. Soft bellies, big watchful eyes, round cheeks.
I miss my babies. When I wasn't paying attention, they grew long legs and cheekbones and big boy voices. Why do they have to go and do that?
I cried a little and put the sling back in the chest. That little piece of fabric is still carrying my babies.