Heart Strings

Y’all. 

My heart strings. 

They are being tugged.  Pulled.  Stretched in uncomfortable directions.

I’m getting ready for the spring consignment sale.  And I’m struggling.

I tend to buy new clothes a bit on the big side, and we wear clothes for quite a long time.  A 4T sundress was likely bought when the girls were three…worn as a dress for a couple of years…and then worn as a tunic with leggings or shorts thereafter.

That means I’m just now parting with things the girls wore to preschool.  In the sale pile are the outfits they wore on their first day, when they were 3 ½…the outfits they wore for pictures…the outfits they wore for their year-end receptions.

Gulp.

Surely it seems like that was YESTERDAY.  Surely THREE AND A HALF YEARS can’t have passed since they plodded down the sidewalk in front of me, their cheeks still baby-chubby, since they came home from preschool and I laid them down for a nap in their cribs.

I really try to focus on the now…to enjoy each stage as we’re in it…not to mourn the passing time.  And I usually do pretty well with that.

But there’s something about holding these sweet little clothes that’s getting to me this week.  It may not just be that random prick of an errant safety pin that’s bringing a tear to my eye now and again.