The cradle still stands in the corner of our bedroom. Unused for months, I have managed to strip it back to the bare mattress, sheets and blankets washed and then remade up on a cot that recently dropped from the newborn setting to the lower big baby no-you-can’t-stand-up-here level. The contents of the nappy bag are shifting, no longer stuffed to the brim with chuck clothes and spare onesies and wraps and extra nappies just-in-case, and instead bursts with toys and snacks and bibs. The outfits are getting bigger, as are the nappies.
Beetle baby is growing up at what feels like the speed of light, and I must admit, while one part of me is glad in a way, that the long nights and the nappies and the bag of so.much.stuff is coming to an end, a rather large part is me is sad at the end of our baby days. I’m dragging my feet with everything. The cradle. The boxes of baby clothes I can’t bring myself to sort through and pass on.
I have, however, started making tiny baby steps in the direction of leaving our baby days behind, and took to my favourite maternity shirt with scissors and the sewing machine, and now have a new favourite tunic for winter. You can see the full how-to here, as part of my monthly posting for And Sew We Craft.
I do love my “new” shirt, though I’m in no huge hurry to move onto the rest of my clothes, or pull down that cradle to put into storage ready for the next generation of babies. For now, I’m ignoring the thought of no more tiny bottoms to change, of not having a clothesline full of freshly washed nappies and the tiniest jeans and button-up shirts you’ve ever seen. Instead, I’m finding the silver lining in times my littlest boy calls me from my bed in the night, soaking in the stolen moments of sleepy snuggles in the middle of the night, the house quiet and still, a tiny body curled around mine as we sit cocooned in the dark…