The Quilt

After we brought Danica home from the hospital in July 2008, she quickly began outgrowing her clothes. Every time she outgrew an outfit, I would tuck it away in a bin in my closet. We had no solid plans for another child, but I was too emotionally tied to part with them. Danica has always done everything with gusto, including growth spurts, so one bin quickly became four. My hoarding saving worked in our favor, because we eventually had a second daughter that was born in May 2012.  Yet still, as Addy outgrew each outfit, I returned them to the bins instead of donating them. There were not underlying plans for another child, but I was still unable to part with them. As time stretched on, I donated some items and passed some along to friends and family, but the bulk of my daughters' clothes sat in bins in my over-crowded closet.

Over time, I started to realize that those clothes symbolized my what-if's. What if I'm not done having babies? What if we decide that three is our number? Or maybe four? What if we have a surprise pregnancy? I certainly wouldn't want to have parted with all of these clothes! My mind was littered with justifications. Eventually, my logic set in and I realized that those clothes were not my attempts at frugality "just in case", but me holding onto the possibility of another baby. Another pregnancy. Another Akers child. Another chance to see the wondrous ways Mike's DNA mingles with mine.

For many reasons, two is definitely our number. But, I still have a hard time accepting what that truly means. I will never again feel the tiny flutters of a baby in my womb. I will never again rest a hand on my swollen belly and whisper promises to my unborn child. I will never again notice waves of contractions and wonder if "this is it". I will never again experience the exhilarating surrealism of labor. I will never again sing Happy Birthday to my brand new baby as she lies on my chest and takes her first breaths. I will never again feel the pride and awe of my daughter latching to nurse for the first time. I am beyond toothless grins and first words. There will be no more three a.m. breastfeedings and strange popcorn smelling diaper blow-outs. No more chubby legs crawling towards an unsuspecting doggy. No more cautious first steps and sing-song babblings. I love babies. I most especially love my babies. I thought, or maybe hoped, that I would feel an overwhelming sense of being done having children. But that's not the case, and I have finally realized it may never be. I may never be without that ache of longing. Having our babies was the first time my heart felt it's fullest. It is when my love for each of them, my husband, and myself grew to capacities I never knew existed. Why wouldn't I want to experience that over and over?

To help me commemorate those indescribable months of growing and meeting my children, I decided to keep each of the outfits that hold my most cherished memories and pass along the rest. Instead of keeping them in a bin for decades, though, I decided to piece them into a quilt. A quilt just the right size for snuggling with my once upon a babies. I know many people far more experienced than me that could have completed it more quickly and beautifully than I did. But this project was therapeutic for me and I alone needed to complete it. I shed many tears and a few too many expletives. I mastered my seam ripper and spent many hours with my once-feared sewing machine. But, I did it. I finished the quilt and I look forward to our years to come with a fresh perspective. I don't want to spend all my energy pondering the what-if's. Instead, I want to spend my time enjoying the children I have and seeing the amazing people they are growing into. They still have a lot of life and love to teach me about.