Not just any garage sale

I have always loved holding garage sales. Not just for the cash that you get and the junk that leaves your house and opens its chest to possibility, dreams, and new directions. But there's also the people you meet. They walk like water birds through your past, dipping their necks, focusing their eyes in the half-light of morning. All the while, you flutter and talk about the history of your belongings. You hope to gain a fraction of their original worth. You hope for that much. There is a sinking feeling in the gut when someone looks down their nose at something of worth, something you once loved, and deems it unworthy of their dollars. But there is also the shared joy of meeting a need, for just a handful of coins; fulfilling someone for just a little while. Even those who don't buy often bring their stories and their open hearts. They are seekers. I love that.

This past weekend, we rolled our garage open in the cold and dark. We were ready for the early birds. On the carport, we laid down blankets and, on that, the trappings of our babies who are verging on no longer being babies. Even in the dark, they could be seen. The bright blue of the cow motif infant seat where Ryan would watch us eating dinner. The shiny globe on the floor-based play unit that Ryan and Charlotte spun in their fat, newly-minted fingers. The play table that taught them both how to sit up. The first visitor was a grandmother who insisted that David bring out a lamp to illuminate our beautiful baby girl clothes. She held the fabric up beneath the glaring bulb, running her fingers over the pale pink smocking and embroidery before deciding that we were charging too much for our finery. My head told me that it was good to sell the baby things. Someone who really needed them could use them. We need the space.

But sealed in that sale is the likelihood that a newborn won't live at our house again. Otherwise, why would we sell the stroller that we were using last week for a mere $15? Why would we part with the Feldman Brothers gowns and the booties. Oh, the booties. Of course we saved a few boxes of the threads that first caressed the skin of our babies. Still, it didn't feel good to have them assessed and turned over, the debate raging over whether $2 is too much to pay for a 12-inch-long dress.

The experience has had me turning over my future with the same scrutiny. Will I have another baby? Especially when the birth of Charlotte was so taxing on me and our family and included events that easily could have ended my life: Several blood clots and a hemorrhage, followed by anemia and a blood transfusion, surgery to remove the clots and several veins. Especially when this family of four seems, well, just right? The answer is clear. No more babies. But there is such a barren quality to that truth. Then, though, my mind turns a corner. As the infant carseat is loaded into the car of a friend who is collecting goods for a needy family who has a premature baby, I see the many possibilities of moving to the next phase of life. The adventures and stories we will share. And I am so grateful to have the family I have. I, who professed several times that I would never have children.

The night of the garage sale, I registered for the Disney Princess Half Marathon. This is a perfect way to announce the new era. After nearly four years straight of being pregnant, breastfeeding, or both, I am ready to create my own brand new "Once Upon a Time."