The diaper pail sat by the front door for two months. The yellow Post-it note on it read: “Drop off at Goodwill.” But I never got around to it. Then last week, a charity called offering to retrieve any second-hand goods right from my front door. How could I refuse? My daughter is 7 now and I’d been tripping over her old diaper pail for years.
Yet, on the morning of the scheduling pick up, I stood staring at the white and turquoise Graco pail, unable to lift it, walk five feet through the front door and place it on the porch. Instead, I wanted to shove it back into the basement and hide behind the couch when the pick-up man rang the doorbell.
Every time I get rid of my daughter’s baby things, it’s agony. After I sold her crib, I ached for days. Now, I wanted it all back: the bassinet, the swing, the changing table, the hats and booties— everything I gave away, including this smelly pail.
What did I really want back? Did I want my daughter’s babyhood back? I remember the infant days; I couldn’t wait for my daughter to grow older. With each step she took, I got more of my life back. First, there was preschool and I had some mornings, then a playdate and I had two hours and then kindergarten and I had until 2pm. I love being a mother and I also love living for small stretches on my own grown-up terms.
This past August, when I’d planned to be home with my daughter full-time, I saw the month like a movie trailer in my mind: wide shot of her and I running through fields of peaches. Pan to a close-up of me biting a peach and juice squirming in my eye. Cut to us giggling as we load boxes of peaches into the car before heading home to make pie.
I longed to be the mother I imagined some mothers to be— the kind who actually make pies for a month. I never knew these mothers personally; I only glimpsed them across the playground, in soft focus, their silky tendrils of hair and patient smiles.
Because, the truth is, by the time I remembered it was peach season, the peaches were bruised and overripe in the fields and my daughter was screaming as she fled the wasps. I couldn’t wait for her first day of school.
Then it arrived.
As my husband and I walked her to the new school where she didn’t know anybody, I wanted to yank her back home. We hovered as she slid her crayons into her desk. As the other children colored, my daughter stood like a soldier. Then I realized we were the only parents left in the classroom, so I hugged her goodbye for the umpteenth time and watched her relax into her chair and join the coloring.
I want my baby to grow up and I don’t want my baby to grow up. I am forever teetering on this edge, accepting the newness and clinging to old diaper pails like they are filled with gold.
Sitting by the front door next to that pail, I recalled the last time this charity came to my door. We were donating some of my daughter’s outgrown clothes. She was helping me sort them. I held up a pair of worn Mary Jane shoes.
“These don’t fit anymore, do they?”
“Too tight,” she said.
“Let’s get rid of them,” I said, and flung them into a brown grocery bag.
“Wait!” my daughter said, fishing the shoes out of the bag. While I launched into a speech about the importance of charity, she picked up the shoes and hugged them into her chest. As she rocked the shoes in her arms, I finally shut up.
“Bye, bye shoes,” she said. “Bye, bye.” Then, she dropped them into the bag and skipped away.
Now I knew what I needed to do.
I stood up and hugged the pail’s cold plastic into my body.
“Bye, bye,” I said at last. “Bye, bye diaper pail.”
I set it on the front porch and went inside.
Let’s all take care on Earth Day to give care to those we love, as well as to our communities, cities, states, country and planet.
Finding out the answers to these questions will help you make an informed camp decision.
Each year as summer comes to a close, August’s National Night Out celebrates local community efforts to stop crime and create positive change.