Thursday, April 2, 2015

Baby Love

B is for Bitty Baby

Also boxes and basements.

And blond-haired beauties who grow up but still need to know their  mama has not thrown their childhood out with the trash. Turns out mama needs to know it too.

When we moved to the UK back in 2003, my youngest daughter was not quite 13. We left the US in record time, like fugitives running from the law except we weren't. We were just expats trying to get across the pond before the new school year got underway.

We almost made it too. I mean obviously we made it across the pond, but we missed the first day of school by a couple of weeks. We didn't know that wouldn't matter. In our American brains, hard-wired with the American way of doing things, we felt like our girls missing day one in a brand new school would be disastrous. That they would start off three steps behind in the social world of teenage-dom, thereby marking the whole experience as something to later headline a list entitled, 'How My Parents Ruined My Life'.

Oh the things we don't know we don't know. God is good that way.

On the Maryland side of the pond we sold a house, car, and boat, we packed, loaded, shipped belongings, and were on our way 21 days from the day we said we'd take the job. In a word-insanity. I'm not kidding, it really was, but we put our heads down and plowed forward.

Part of plowing forward meant not having a lot of time to negotiate with my then 12 year old about the fact that she would be at least 16 when we made our way back to the US to live. That at age 16 she would not care about stuffed animals, toy cash registers, and one of a dozen baby dolls along with all her bits and pieces, namely a high chair, changing table, diaper bag, wicker carrying case, bottles, play food, and more.

We don't do anything by halves here.

The philosophy I adopted for making it to England without going off the deep end myself was to let my girls keep mostly what they wanted to keep.  Not to argue much or persuade, but to throw it all in bins labeled 'Daughters childhood' and watch those bins leave the driveway in a truck headed for storage. It might have been hard to watch them go if I'd had any time to think, but there were a thousand million things to be done to get to England 'on time' so we got to gettin'. I told myself I'd deal with all the 'stuff' they'd kept when we returned.

For three weeks life moved at mach speed. I fell into bed every night exhausted by the reality that was now mine. It felt like I was standing on a rug one minute, and before I could take it all in someone had yanked the rug right out from under me. I spent those 21 days trying to regain my footing.

It took a little longer than 21 days.

Fast forward to last week. In our shared agreement not to move any boxes that were delivered to our house here in NJ some 5 1/2 years ago without knowing their exact contents, specifically those boxes that came from a storage unit following our move back to the states in 2009, hubs and I got serious about opening all the boxes. Boxes labeled 'daughters childhood'. And there she was.

Bitty Baby.

Turns out I was wrong. For about 5 minutes back in August of 2003 I had tried to convince my pre-teen that she wouldn't want to keep a baby doll. That she'd grow up and come back here and that doll would be just a doll. Something she used to play with, but had now outgrown. Daughter2 wanted no part of it, so we sent her to storage.

I lifted the doll from amid the packing paper, sans clothes of course because even though she had a diaper bag and wicker suitcase filled with no less than fifteen outfits Bitty went to storage in her birthday suit. Seeing her there my heart filled up with a longing for my own baby girl, so visceral I wanted to cry. Not because I wish my girls were still small, but because I miss their daily in person presence in my life. Their chatter at the dinner table, a hairbrush on the sink, the sound of footsteps racing down the stairs.

I look at that baby doll and remember the sweetness of having little girls to tuck in beside their Bitty Baby at night. My 'pre-teen' was 19 years old when we returned to America to live, and she'll be a quarter of a century on her next birthday.

Yes I did put Bitty in that red dress and take a basement selfie with my grown daughter's childhood baby doll. Then I sent it to my daughter via text and got a happy message back.

You don't think so much about the fact that your kids will never live at home with you again, until they don't. As the years roll by you might sometimes allow that thought to prickle at the back of your brain but it's elusive, not something you can get your head around. You let it rest in that far off someday called the future, while you stay busy packing lunches and checking homework.

Funny thing about the future kind of sneaks up on you. A gradual unfolding until one day you discover you're firmly on the other side of an invisible milestone you didn't realize you'd passed.

In my first real post in this year's A-Z challenge I want to state for the record that change is hard. We know this, yet it's rarely said aloud. We're told to 'go for it!', 'take risks!', and 'think of it as a challenge!' always with an exclamation point.

Why write about something that occured so long ago? Why pull up the memory and examine the thoughts that memory stirs?

When I look back at how change has occurred in my own life, almost all of it's been hard on the front end. Whether it's moving young teenagers to a foreign country, navigating the tricky waters of their transition to adulthood, or figuring out my own empty nest, there's an element of courage needed on the front end.

The before.

But there's always an after too. A vantage point from which we see it all in hindsight. Where we recognize a lesson learned at age 42 might be useful to us in circumstances we face at age 54. We can't always see the purpose in change as it's's in the after we most often find a nugget of truth to hold on to. Some piece of wisdom to tuck away and remember, to use when more change comes our way.

And it will.

Because life isn't stagnant, or at least I don't want it to be.

Bitty Baby helps me remember why.


  1. what a wise mum you were. we moved 4 times when I was a child and I had younger siblings. Result - not a single cuddly toy leftover from my childhood. My lovely daughter bought me a hippo who lives on my pillow. anne stenhouse

  2. So, so, precious and timely! This is going to be fun, write on!!!!

  3. Joyce... I thought moves were difficult enough in the US, I can't imagine one overseas. Beautiful sentimental post. I admit to tearing up when the bitty baby was found. My girls had one too. Have a wonderful Easter.

  4. You are an excellent writer, Joyce. Looking forward to your "C"!!

  5. Okay, you have me wiping tears, that was such an enjoyable read and as I've said many times, you are a gifted writer for sure!!!

    Oh, yes, change is sure and sometimes we just have to hold on for dear life as we journey through. But, we do always come through on the other side and hopefully having learned a thing or two in the process.

    Can't wait for the rest of the alphabet!

  6. Beautiful post and wisdom. Sounded a bit like my life, only I am in the ME and not much chance of moving back at my end of pond anytime soon. And my teen is a guy not a girl. So important to know what bits to hold onto and what to let go! Thanks for a great read.

    Best wishes for an awesome A-Z,
    from Madly-in-Verse

  7. Wonderfully written! Looking forward to reading your posts!
    Of course I always do!

  8. I loved your story this morning, Joyce, and the doll is so cute. I have passed along all the kids childhood memories and scrapbooks to them, but I still have some mementos to enjoy.

  9. Aww.... exactly. If you are going to go through the alphabet by going through the boxes we are going to need more Kleenex... just sayin'

  10. Very well said. Life does change quickly.

  11. Loved your post. I am looking forward to reading more. Can't find a place to follow your blog though.

    1. To follow click the bloglovin icon on my sidebar under 'follow along' or you can follow via email using the email box below the icons. There are also links to Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest. Thanks for stopping by!

  12. I feel like I see my future in your posts. I'm just a few years behind! I sure do enjoy reading your blog - and I sure do miss you and our Christian Corner days in England!

    1. I sure do miss them too : ) Hope you and your girls are doing well!

  13. you know, I can SO relate to what you wrote. You had me in tears, in fact. Yes, the future sneaks up on you in the most unexpected ways. So does the Empty Nest Syndrome...

  14. This was beautifully written! Congratulations on your daughter's upcoming twenty fifth birthday!


  15. Wow, this explains my Mom's reaction to me donating most of the "stuff to keep for the next child"!

    This was beautifully written.

    Gina, #1387 today, blogging at Book Dragon's Lair

  16. We save stuff from our kids babyhood and such. They'll get a real kick out of getting it back when they have kids.

  17. Beautiful, honest, wise words. Days become years, and years become memories Where is Bitty Baby going now?