Out With The Old

It's Saturday and I'm cleaning out closets and trying to organize. Trying because even though I know it must get done, it's difficult. 

I started with my closet and I don't know why I have such a hard time letting go of clothes that no longer fit. Clothes that have seen better days, clothes that no matter what happens or how much weight I lose I cannot see myself wearing ever again.

 As I was sorting through a bin of clothes, I came across two pairs of maternity jeans - one pair still had the tags. I bought them during my second pregnancy. And then after I lost the baby, I didn't have the heart to give the jeans away. I was hoping that I'd need them again. That was three years ago. I haven't needed them. They've just been taking up space. And they remind me of a time when I was hopeful.

I decided it was time to let them go.

And the maternity jeans that I never got a chance to wear was put in the pile of size 4s. Because chances are, I'll never be a size 4 again. And I'll probably never be pregnant again. I have't lost hope. I'm trying to be realistic. And I'm okay with that. 

I threw away shoes that hurt my feet. Shoes that had collected too much dust. And I tossed out dresses that had seen exciting Saturday nights. My Saturday nights are spent at home or with The Boy - those dresses were just taking up space.   

And then it was time for The Boy's room.

Last night The Husband went to Ikea to buy The Boy a new desk. It was time. Long over due, if you want to know the truth. 

Today The Husband assembled The Boy's new desk. I folded The Boy's table and chairs. We bought them five years ago, shortly after The By was diagnosed with autism. The ABA therapist said she needed a table and chairs to work.

Folding up that table and chairs was tough. I don't know why but it was. Well, I know why. Back then we believed that if we did everything the therapist suggested, The Boy would be okay. He'd be "fixed." Today I folded them up knowing - and accepting - that there's no quick fix for autism. There's no coat of paint to calm or a table and chairs to cure. I know that now. I'm okay with that. I have accepted that.

But that doesn't mean, it doesn't hurt. And it doesn't mean I've lost hope.  

Over the last five years I've watched The Boy's progress with awe. It was at that table, that I heard The Boy say his first word and complete his first puzzle. I can't even count the hours of time spent at that table. It was at that table that I got my first glimpse of hope. 

But The Boy is going to be eight in a few months. He's too big for that table. It's time for us to move on. And I look forward to all the new things The Boy will accomplish at his new desk.

It is time for a new beginning. For The Boy and for me.