Changing Wardrobes.

I spent the early part of the evening sorting out your clothes last night. The changing of the season signalled the reality that I could avoid the job no more. No longer could I dress you in several layers of summer clothes, hoping that your lips would not turn blue and that bare legs would not be frowned upon by supposedly superior beings when we went out in public. No, it was high time that I broke out the thicker clothes that I had stored up magpie like in plastic bags, bought over the past summer sales period that I hope will keep you warm during the autumn and winter seasons.

It was time, I knew in my heart, to sort out the clothes that were too small for you and pack them away. I had been dreading this task, as I knew that it was going to be hard sentimentally for me. For with each item I put aside as too small, an image of your father and I flashed before my eyes. The moment that he held up the pair of jeans that he had found with small love heart shaped pockets played out fully in my minds eye. My heart endured the surge of emotions of joy and fulfilment. I could hear his voice as he sighed with the pleasure of simply buying something cute and girly for you to wear. The day I found the cardigan with the multi-coloured strands of yarn which was followed by a simple lunch of burgers and chips where we talked and laughed and enjoyed the newly renovated shopping mall with the skylight roofing that allowed the thin winter sunshine to fill the atrium. The dress that I bought on a trip downtown to a store that no longer exists, that had hung on the canopy railings of our bed, that you were photographed in for a major daily newspaper article about an entrepreneurial exploit of mine.

This task was more than saying goodbye to old favourites of clothing simply to make room for items waiting to become the new favourites. This task made my heart ache because it was saying goodbye to the shared parenting times I had with your father. Officially, I have now been a single parent longer than I was a parent with a partner. Your well being, your upbringing has been primarily my job, my burden to carry. Burden because each and every day I second guess myself and worry that I am making bad decisions that will fundamentally change who you will become at the end of your journey to adulthood. I lie awake at night and wish I had another voice in the dark to whisper my fears to. I miss the camaraderie in sharing this parental load with your father on a daily basis. I know that your father supports me from across the distance and when prompted he will tell me that he trusts me completely with your life. But I long to hear comfort and confirmation that my best is enough and that you will be who you are meant to be despite my parenting attempts.

I put away the items that I had clung too in these recent months, because it was my last link with the man I had chosen to move to an adoptive homeland that I discover anew each day I am missing so desperately. The simple task of clothing your body is no longer a shared pleasure. Now we choose items alone for you and hope that the other will approve, or at least accept. Dealing with the certainty of your growth towards maturity has me crying still with a strange mixture of grief and pride. But as I went through your clothes last night, I put away another piece of my heart.