My name is Steph – and I’m an emotional hoarder!

Ok – so maybe it’s because I’m due on or something and feeling a little bit emotional at the moment, but I’m sat here sobbing whilst sorting through piles, upon piles of clothing.

Not just any piles of clothing.

No. Otherwise that would be totally odd!

All the piles of clothes belonging to my two little girls.

All the clothes that we’ve bought, acquired and accumulated over the last four years.

All the clothing we’ve lovingly chosen and dressed our little ones in.

Garments we’ve painstakingly spent hour upon hour scouring rails for.

Brand name dresses that I’ve practically had to fight over to win in the sales.

And clothes I’ve checked and re-checked on the online stores in the hope that they’ve restocked in their sizes!!

Beautiful baby romper suits which have been presented as gifts from our loved ones before they were born.

Those hugely sentimental outfits we dressed our babies in as we proudly brought our newborns home, for that very first time.

The dresses they’ve worn for each of their birthday parties;

The coats and gloves they wore to build their first snowmen;

Those scruffy, scuffed-kneed trousers they wore as they came running in for help with their first cuts and bruises.

Clothes which have been passed down from H to Little E.

Outfits full of memories of all the happy times we’ve spent together.

But, now the house is overloaded and cluttered.

There are trousers so short they’ve become ankle swingers; tops which used to be long line have come back into fashion as crop tops; and socks which are now only good for the dolls they play with.

It’s high time for a clear out.

So why on earth am I finding it so very hard.

Each time I pick up up that pretty floral dress or that tatty but oh so very well loved cardigan, I just can’t bear to pop it into the black bin liner sat next to me.

Maybe I’m turning into one of those mad hoarder types that you see on the tv programmes. The ones where there’s so much clutter you can’t see the floors, walls or windows; the ones that sleep on pile upon pile of old newspapers or live buried waist deep in amongst row upon row of empty Tupperware containers.

Each time I place something in the ‘never going to fit again category’ it just wrenches at my heart strings.

My babies are getting bigger.

My little girls are growing up.

I just get flashbacks of how they were and each piece of clothing has its own particular memory which i just want to cling to.

And then I well up again.

Obviously it’s not that I don’t want them to grow up, because of course I do, and of course they will.

It’s just that time seems to have passed so quickly.  The days, months and years have flown by and my babies aren’t babies any more.

Within a blink of an eye they’ve grown into toddlers and children who are running about, bickering with one another and developing as strong willed, increasingly independent little people.

Though, hey ho – I suppose I just have to cherish those memories and move on.

Its time to move onto the next fun adventure, in the next exciting chapter of their little lives.

With lots more dirt, scuffs, laundry and ironing for all the new clothes we’ll buy to make our new memories in.

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