I had this weird emotion today as I was driving away from the consignment store. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and I felt like someone had gone into my heart with a scalpel and cut out a piece. I hit the call button and dialed MacTroll.
My call made him walk out of his meeting. But I was thankful that he picked up.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I feel good and terrible about what I just did. So I'm just going to tell you."
"I took the baby jogger into consignment. The good news is that we have a big open space in the garage. The bad news is -- I'm sad that he's not a baby any more." And then my nose started to run and my eyebrows pushed together. I felt like some sort of terrible traitor.
This didn't happen when I got rid of the exersaucer or when we took down the crib or when I got rid of all of his infant clothes. All of that went off without a hitch. But today I got emotional. It's a sure sign that X-man's birthday is coming up. I busy myself with all the preparing and talking with him about what he'd like to do for his birthday (go to the Bloomington Children's Museum and then come home and go out to dinner and see Dora at the Assembly Hall). I think it's just a way for me not to have to think about the fact that my baby is definitely a big boy. It works -- because after our talk at bedtime last night X-man told me he doesn't want to think about it either.