My baby is growing up poem: try to enjoy the time you have with your child. Before you know it, you’ll clean out their closet of baby clothes and wonder where did time go.
By Joshua Cintron
I woke up this morning, walked to
the closet, looked at the white
trash bag filled with my kids’ clothes
pulled it into the open space in my room.
I untied the plastic orange drawstring
and drove my hand into the
neatly folded clothes stacked
on top of
I closed up the bag and carried
it to the living room.
I walked back to my room, pulled
out a Disney Princess toddler
bed under my bed and carried
it to the living
room. I walked back to my room one
more time, pulled out a Disney Cars
toddler bed from the closet
and carried it to the living room.
I opened the bag filled with my kids
clothes; one by one, I pulled
Sofia the First fleece and Hello
Kitty pajama sets; Teenage Mutant
Ninja Turtle and Spongebob pajama
short sets, t-shirts, skirts, unopened
Paw Patrol and Disney socks.
I draped their clothes over the
cushion on the couch, running my hand
over them as if petting a dog.
I stopped, quietly stared at the images
staring back at me and a projector movie
of memories began to play
in my mind. A heaviness overcame my heart
and the reality of them growing up hit
me. I never
thought I would get emotional over my
kids clothes and maybe that’s why
I kept them tucked away in the closet
for years, holding onto the memory of
them as babies.
In the silence of an afternoon with only the
sound of the A/C blowing semi-cold wind
into the humid apartment complex,
I stood there looking at their clothes,
fighting back tears and emotions,
deciding if giving them away
was the right thing to do.
In the end, I packed their clothes
into my truck and said goodbye to
the memories of two impressionable
people I come to love more than