The Loft

loft

I have started sorting out the loft.

For 2 years I have been shoving things up there: baby things, highchairs, booster seats, babygros, small shoes, little clothes, baby books, baby toys…

Gradually it has formed a layer over the the existing piles of stuff like a layer of earth covering a silent city.

If you conducted an archaelogical dig in our loft, the crust would be the most recent collection of just-too-small boys clothes. Under it, smaller clothes, then newborn things, muslin cloths. And finally, you would unearth the perfectly preserved debris of the life we lived before we had children.

Evidence of a civilisation so different to the life we know now.

I have been avoiding the loft for a long time.

It sits literally and metaphorically above my head and is a heavy weight when I lie in bed at night.

I became scared to go up there, averting my eyes when we had to bring down the Christmas decorations, lest I should inadvertently see something that reminded me of a baby I might never have.

But today I broke through that fear.

Today I began.

I sorted, and rearranged, and tidied and reminisced and organised.

The baby things stay. I still have hope in my heart, and I can’t deny it, even if at the moment the body is weak and reluctant.

Those things are now in their own special part of the loft. Stacked and ready for use, should the need arise.

They are out of the way of everything else. Neatly to one side, so as not to cause distress and annoyance when I need something else that has been stored away.

I thought I would cry, but I didn’t. I smiled. Those beautiful little clothes that both of my boys have worn, those cute little toys and soft baby things that they had in their cots. The days of the moses basket and endless, endless tiredness. Such a wonderful, wonderful collection of memories.

Those objects aren’t tainted by miscarriage and loss, because they were never used for anything other than the living, breathing, messy, noisy, amazing children that fill my home.

I was afraid of something that wasn’t even there. Something my own mind had created.

The loft is no longer a terrifying ordeal that needs to be dealt with.

The loft is where the physical memories of being a new mother are.

I feel so relieved.

I’ve started a car-boot box in the garage. I’ve thrown a couple of things out. I’ve brought down some books and reinstated them on my bookshelves. I’ve even found an antique sewing machine that I’m going to sell. There is still some work to do up there, but I have taken a big step forward today.

Minimalism and order is something I crave and it seems to vanish when I am going through a hard time emotionally.

My environment always, so accurately, reflects my own state of mind.

Funny how that happens.

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