Hoarding

A few weeks ago I wrote Primero and I were cleaning out our basement storage area. When not reminiscing about his own tumultuous past and lack of childhood mementos, Primero was complaining about my hoarding tendencies (I’m not a hoarder, let’s be clear on that! I do keep potentially useful things, but who doesn’t?). He wanted to throw out all the baby paraphernalia I had stashed in the basement because, as he put it, it’s not like we’re getting another baby. I mostly ignored his request and found places to squirrel away the items, but internally I questioned myself. Why am I holding on to outgrown car seats, swings and baby baths? Similarly, why do I have a hardy stash of children’s clothing, for both genders, ages newborn to 5T tucked under my bed? Am I simply hoarding child items because of the memories attached to them or do I hope to use them again in the future? I guess I had envisioned myself continuing to foster children, even after the three I have now are adopted. I suppose that is a pipe dream, since the house is so small and therefore I can only be licensed for three kids. I guess part of it stems from my feelings that my family is unfinished, although I don’t know why I feel that way. Maybe because I don’t have a partner? So, I tuck away the things I might need if I ever get another foster care placement, with no real game-plan in sight. I’m sure, at some point, I will get to a place emotionally where I can part with these unneeded things, but for the time being they are stored in my basement.

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