I have been nesting lately.
This is pretty par for the course for me. Around 20 weeks of pregnancy I start organizing, decorating, and sorting through everything. Every cupboard and drawer gets gone through. I part easily with things so I send a lot of stuff to our local Goodwill store. And I take inventory of what I need to get before the baby comes. All I want to do all day is make my house as homey and functional as possible. Its fun.
For my birthday my sister gave me a sewing machine! I have been wanting one so badly. My sister and I attempted to share my mother's old one, but we live pretty far from each other and it really wasn't working out. Now I have my very own. I spent the afternoon today setting up my sewing "nook" in my bedroom so that I can get started on all my "nesting projects."
One project I have been planning for a long time is making a baby blanket with the bedding I saved from when Aubrey and Ellie were in the hospital. I kept all the blankets that ever touched their bodies. My sister was going to do it for me to honor my girls, but before she could get started I called her in tears and asked to do it myself. I feel strongly that it is something I need to do for them. And I guess for me too.
The problem is I can't bring myself to do it.
I pulled out their bedding today and when I opened the tiny little blankets I saw the stains. Each one a vivid reminder of the little lives that made them.
Those blankets held my girls more than I did. They got to touch them when I was only allowed to stare through the incubator glass. They kept my girls warm as they took their last breaths and covered them with dignity as I walked them back to their beds for the very last time.
Now those stained blankets are all I have left. And I can't bare the thought of washing them. When I touch those blankets I touch my girls. I'm not ready to wash that away.
I may never be.
For the time being I decided just to keep them as they are, memories and stains intact. I put them back in their memory boxes and there they will stay until I decide I am ready.
In the meantime it comforts me to know that I can still touch the last thing that touched them. Just like those blankets are stained, so I am. Stained with love, loss, and all the memories that come with it.
Nothing can wash those stains away.