My sister is about to have a baby boy; my friend Bonnie, whom I mentioned in an earlier post, is now past her due date. I think this is why I have babies on my mind.
When I was a new mom to Carter, we received all the usual baby gifts–little booties, fleece blankets (he was a winter baby). A fuzzy teddy bear, a hardback copy of Winnie the Pooh. Some of the gifts came from a husband and wife whose children I babysat when I was a girl; one of the things they sent was a set of wooden letters that spelled C-A-R-T-E-R. I used to line up the letters on the bookcase every night, touching each one of them, arranging them just so.
The thought of it makes me smile, now. My days of arranging bookcases and letters are behind me. Our house, with three children, two cats and a dog, is full of “comfortable clutter.” I like it better this way; to me, it feels like a place where people are busy living. It feels like a home.
I found the wooden letters this morning, or what was left of them. One of the children had arranged them in a line, E-T-C. I picked each one up and touched it again, remembering those early months as a new mom, when I was trying to find my way. It seemed so important that I get every detail right.
The little things don’t matter so much to me, anymore. The beside-the-point things, the et cetera things. It’s a good feeling, being able to sometimes let go. It’s a skill my children taught me, and then this morning, helped me see it.