I cry at adverts all the time. I’ve always been a bit of a weepy wimp about certain moments on screen (Tiny Tim’s empty stool in the Muppet’s Christmas Carol, Quinn’s demise in Homeland, any scene in Watership Down) but since becoming a mother my eyes water involuntarily at the smallest things.
I’ve also noticed that I’ve become increasingly attached to random things that I don’t need and really don’t have space for (particularly with an impending house move) but can’t seem to release. Most of these are to do with Scrip and Baby D.
So in his room, nestling alongside the cotton wool and Sudocrem, I still have the yellow elastic that went around my tummy when they monitored him in hospital one weekend. Why on earth did I take that away and why am I still keeping it?!
Alongside Scrip’s first curls and hospital bracelets I have not only all of her cards from the last three years but also most of the gift tags from her presents (Christmas and birthday).
I have a growing stack of her drawings – even the ones she’s scribbled all over afterwards – that I can’t part with. And I can’t bring myself to lend my friends, who are newer parents, certain items of clothing that I associate with special times. These aren’t gorgeous party dresses or smart outfits – mostly just regular sleepsuits or vests. I have a pile of them.
I forced myself to open a foreign shower gel that I’d bought and saved because it has Scrip’s real first and second names on the other day. I’d been saving it for over three years so I hope it’s still OK! Where was I realistically going to put it?
And when the time comes to recycle her baby toys I’m not sure quite how I’ll be able to say farewell to Miss Polly, Dylan Dog and Attic the pink bear. At least I have Baby D as the reason to keep them at the moment. But unless I have another one I won’t have that excuse for much longer.