Today a friend gave birth to a baby boy. I am really happy for her. I am.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a bit funny about her birth. I still have those issues towards pregnant women and women giving birth, having an easy labour.
I will get over it and if I don't then it doesn't really matter.
Anyway, I digress.
I sold our travel system to this friend.
The car seat, the carrycot, the chair and the chassis. And I bought a pushchair with the money.
I thought I was ok at selling these. They took up far too much room, in the house and in my car.
It was heavy and I wanted to use a buggy board so with Charles adding that extra weight I would never be able to push them.
I just wanted something lightweight.
We don't plan on having any more children so it's not even like I need the car seat to use again.
It's lovely that all these items will get reused and will be looked after. They've gone to a good home rather than to the tip.
So why, tonight, when sitting in the bath, did I burst into tears?
I had a major feeling of regret.
Tonight or tomorrow another baby will be carried from the ward, to the car, driven home, carried from the car, into his new home, placed on the floor, unclipped from the seat and cuddled.
The baby will be unclipped from my seat. The seat I brought my boys home in.
This is where it's utterly ridiculous. My feelings I mean.
We used that car seat to transport both boys from Central Delivery Suite to our car. We then transferred them to another car seat to drive them home. We preferred the other carseat, a fixed one, in this particular car because the Mamas and Papas carry style one slipped around on the leather seats too much and felt a bit too unsafe. It was fine in our other cars.
Why do I feel so funny about someone using that seat? She paid me for it. So it's not even mine.
It's not only the seat though.
It's the carrycot, the memories I have of pushing the boys around in it. Watching them sleep as I pushed them around. Stopping for people to look in and coo at my newborn babies.
Wrapping them up all snug and warm, adjusting the base so they can have their head raised if needed.
Deciding whether or not they would be forward or rear facing on each trip with the pushchair.
Pushing it and talking to them both. Looking straight into their eyes.
I felt silly telling my husband of my little outburst.
I knew/know it's a silly thing to cry about and that there isn't any point in us keeping these things but I guess its a realisation that my boys are getting bigger and that I will never have a need for those things again.
I won't get to experience the excitement of bringing baby home in that carseat again.
Comparing photos of my children (if I was to accidently have anymore) in the same carseat.
It's silly. Totally silly. For me to feel this way.
As my friend makes her new memories with these items, deep inside them, surrounding her baby boy, are our memories too.
The memories we made.
With our baby boys.