…for the last time.
Somehow I blinked and my babies are now little boys.
My diaper bag. I fell in love with it while pregnant in 2005; and promptly stuffed it full of anything and everything I thought I might need. Most of which, honestly, I never touched. Then found it too bulky to carry with a baby or toddler in the sling (where Big Brother lived outside the house for the first 18 months of his life) and ended up leaving it in the car, dragging it in to momma-dates (I admit the play dates were for me, not him) or leaving it to Daddy (self proclaimed family pack mule) to carry.
Now, as the boys grow, I have grown too. I now have a backpack that I find too cumbersome to wear with two little people dragging me to different directions, trying to keep two little imps alive getting across parking lots, and half the time wearing or carrying the now-four-year-old. So the backpack sits in the car, in the place that used to hold the diaper bag.
I still carry extra clothing, a tubbie full in the back of the van. I still carry a full first aid kit, again in a tubbie in the back of the van. There is still a bag of toys in the van.
No more diaper bag. No more adorable wallypop cloth diapers, no more cloth wipes, no more teethers, no more cute board books, no more breast pads, and no more burp rags. Now my pack is full of coloring books, crayons, tiny aliens, match-box-cars, bubbles and playdough. I never used the bottle carrier on that diaper bag, but now I carry 2 or 3 water bottles all the time.
It is a whole new reality I find myself in; I love it, would not trade it for the world, but still find it sad. I’ll keep the diaper bag, I can’t give up babyhood just yet.