The memories laid down in the threads.

In preparation for our second little one joining us shortly I have been organising the clothes of my daughter to sell at a baby and kids market stall.


The progress has been slow. Not only because of the sheer volume of teeny tiny pieces, my daughter began life wearing size premmie, but because of the emotions.


When I look at the clothes I feel like my daughter has grown up in the blink of an eye. In the time it took me to exhale she moved from 00000 to a size 5. Just like that. Instant little lady.


Of course then I remember how at times days and hours have stretched before us both and we felt we had a lifetime to savour each stage of development.


But when I held these garments in my hands the memories came flooding back. I held up a tiny outfit to my husband who smiled and nodded with the "that's nice dear, a cute tiny outfit, what are you showing me that for" look. 


I remembered this is what she wore the first time she went to church. Each garment held a new memory. First birthday parties, the time she sat up by herself, my BFF son's 1st birthday party, cuddles as a newborn in 00000 outfits, her first Christmas, playdates with friends. I can recall even photographing her wearing particular outfits.


Now I expect her christening outfit and flowergirl outfits but I can recall a jumpsuit who my nephew had the same one of and the time we laid them in the cot together. Or the time she first wore teeny tiny denim jeans.


Moments which I thought had been lost to my memory were all stored away in the clothes. Knitted tightly like the threads of the garment. Making it harder to price each item cheaply to sell. 


Would I forget when I sold the clothes?


How we form memories, store them and have them triggered is fascinating. My mum has a way with numbers. She can recall telephone numbers of every house she has lived in, her highschool locker number while I am lucky to remember my own postcode.


Some people find their memories are linked with perfume or a smell that can almost transport them back to moments in time.


I kept working through the tubs of clothes. Smiling as each new memory came to me, and staring in astonishment at Raya until she wanted to know what I was looking at.


I am going to sell the clothes for the money and the space. Knowing soon there will be more new, teeny tiny clothes just waiting to be threaded with memories.