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What is it about becoming pregnant that everyone wants to instantly unload all of their used baby gear and clothing on you?

Don’t get me wrong, baby’s are expensive and so is all the gear that they seem to need.  They grow out of clothing in two seconds and require a new wardrobe.  It all adds up.  The second they grow out of all that gear you are left with gently used items, taking up space in the house and needing somewhere to unload them, if you are not planning on another kiddo soon.  A friend who is expecting seems to be the best option because then you know it will go to good use.  You are then saving them money! It is a win-win all around.

Except here is where I am running into issues and trying to not come off as rude to them.  I want to purchase my own, new things for my baby.  Things that I have researched.  Things that aren’t used.  Things that I have picked out the pattern on.  Things that I can return to the store if they don’t work for our baby or lifestyle.  Things that can safely be used for a second baby if we have one.  I want the option to go purchase my own tiny girl clothes.  You know, the things that we have been dreaming of purchasing for over two years.  I fully appreciate my friends thinking of me but am I rude to say no, thanks?

Then there are the friends that are down right rude.  A friend with 4 boys, whose youngest is 4, and who I have done several garage sales with over the past few years, offered me all her old maternity clothes and baby items.  Basically the shit that she couldn’t even get rid of in garage sales because it just needed to go in the trash.  Stuff that isn’t “gently used” but abused from years of 4 babies.  Maternity clothes that aren’t even close to in-style, as she purchased them 8 years ago with her first pregnancy.  She isn’t the only one that has offered me items like this.  Items, that they have been dredged up from a basement or garage, and are more likely expired or completely unsafe for a newborn.  I can see the look in their eyes, the attachment to the object, and then I realize that is all it is.  An attachment to a time that has passed.

I get it.  When we moved into our new home, almost two years ago, I went through a few totes that held Rebecca’s baby stuff.  I was able to take a lot of it to Goodwill, wondering why I ever held on to some of it.  Clearly, in the moment, it was something I had an attachment to, something that I wasn’t ready to let go of.  But there in my garage that day, as I was clearing things out, I couldn’t decipher exactly what that “attachment” was any longer.  Sure, there were blankets that I held on to, a few outfits, shoes, picture frames and other pieces that perhaps she will like to have one day.

For me, I’m not a Duggar, we won’t be buying used and saving the difference, nor do I want gear, unloaded by friends, on my doorstep.  While I appreciate the thought, I want to start my own weird attachments to things.