No Room at The Inn

Every year around this time I become gripped in a frenzy of manic tidying and sorting as if I must make sure that the house is clear of detritus, excess and little wheels off things in preparation for a host of new detritus, excess and little wheels off things that will inevitably make their way in via the Christmas tree and *ahem* adjunct impulse purchases that seem imperative at the time.

I try not to throw too much into the bin, but rather bag up what we no longer use and take it to the charity shop or give it directly to someone who may need it. It has become increasingly difficult to do the latter, though, as Husband clings to his disgraceful, tattered old underwear as if they were the Shroud of Turin (and believe me, the latter looks in considerably better nick) and the children wail when I try to get rid of baby items or toys that they haven’t played with in literally years and never will again so I have to stay up late at night and sneak my bags into my car and do it under a clandestine cloak of darkness.

It’s not an easy task, you know.

But I just can’t stand having all that stuff spilling out all over the place and it’s also quite hard having all the baby gear LOOKING at me expectantly in a broody sort of way. I’m already dealing with Two being a little boy rather than a squidgy baba and I’m in the process of letting go of not having any more tiny ones, so it really is time to make a clean sweep of the stuff.
What am I keeping it for? It’s just taking up space and making me feel nostalgic to boot.

Last week I quietly put three bags (baaa) of baby clothes, a moses basket, a baby bjorn, a nursing pillow and various other items in the boot of my car without mentioning it to the rest of the family and then after dance class I went to a local charity shop to drop off the goods. It was closed, being 9pm, but I drove around to the drop off area at the rear of the store.

I was just about to get out of the car when I saw a head pop up out of a dumpster by the back door.
I froze, suddenly afraid. Was he an ax-murderer?
The head went down again and re-emerged. A small man jumped out clutching a pillow.

I realised the dumpsters were where you dropped off items, not rubbish and he was foraging in them.

“Have you lost something?”

He walked towards me, smiling and open faced; a slight, young, brown skinned man.

“No hablo ingles”

“Do you need something? “

He looked hopefully at the car.

This boy was not a threat to me. He needed help.

I turned off the engine and got out.

“I only have things for a baby. Do you have a baby?”

“Si! Baby! Baby!”

I opened the boot and his face lit up.  We couldn’t speak one another’s language but he managed to express to me that his baby was newborn and he was collecting things to make the mother more comfortable and trying to find some things for the child who had nothing. He was ecstatic to have the moses basket and the nursing pillow (he very sweetly tried it on himself) and I showed him how to wear the Baby Bjorn and told him to be careful to button the sides for a newborn baby so he didn’t slip out.

So close to Christmas.     In the world’s richest country.

How could he have nothing and be foraging in a dumpster?

He took everything.

Including any last shreds of nostalgia or sadness over my baby things.

Feliz Navidad, Madre, Padre e Bebe. Muchas gracias por el regalo

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