Done and done.

I spent part of the weekend purging. No, not upchucking the hot fudge sundae that I had, quite appropriately, on Sunday. I was going through boxes of baby clothes and toys, preparing to give them away to The Diva and her little Popcorn. It was hard. I think I may be a potential hoarder, but I also get really excited about organizing, so it's hard to do both. More than that, though, I realized that my time of mothering infants is basically gone. It makes me sad.

I held up each outfit, remembering a picture we snapped or an outing we took. I remembered dressing my babies, putting their tiny feet into the one-piece jumper, and receiving to-die-for dresses from loving relatives. I could not imagine at the time that my itty-bitty bundles would ever be big enough to fill out a large size. All the while, they were laughing and playing with the toys they have already outgrown. When people say that it all goes by too fast, man, they are not kidding. I felt like I was pregnant for more than two years continuously, and now I don't have any babies. Even my two year old is stretching out, his legs gaining some length and his chubby tummy slimming down.

I read an article not long ago that asked how we know when we're really done having babies. The answer was that mothers who are really done, say so immediately and without reservation. I can't do that, but I think our family probably can't comfortably handle another child. I watched Lynnette on "Desperate Housewives" deal with her serious lack of commitment to the twins she's unexpectedly carrying and wonder if I might feel that way with another baby. Then, of course, there are ck's heart-wrenching posts about her surprise third pregnancy, and the loss of it. They remind me of how complicated my emotions are around this issue. I kind of thought that this year would be the year of an "accidental/on purpose" baby because I promised myself that I would be done by my 35th birthday; that will happen next month. I don't think we're going to be having a surprise, on purpose or not. Hubby is talking about getting snipped, and he was nearly dancing with glee at the empty space created by the absence of those boxes. "Having all that stuff will not force them to be your babies again," he said.

So that's just it. I had a great time mothering infants, having them snuggle next to me, need me, love me. They changed my life (and my body) and then just went on with their lives, on the road to being big kids.

Of course, after all the stuff was given away, they showed up again, whining about this and fighting about that. Talk about a buzz kill. That's when I suggested that ice cream was in order.

Can you imagine me at high school graduation? Have mercy.