It's all Cannon Fodder

I had this moment yesterday when I went to change after my son gave me a bath (splashing is F-U-N!)

The entire bathroom was wet from ceiling to floor, excluding the outline of my body that block the area behind me. Honestly, it was a good time! I like when he get's all playful, which I didn't think was going to happen yesterday - you see, when he goes over the grandparents house, they don't believe me that he needs two naps so I he falls asleep at the ungodly hour of 7pm and that just means he's going to wake up at 5... again.

But after the fanfare and bathroom soaking, I went to change as his father dried him off and coated him in a fine layer of aquaphor when out of no where I was hit with all the "spring style" cleaning that has been going on in my house.

I'm just tired. I'm tired of all this crap being everywhere.
I'm tired of boxes of things, and I don't even know what those things are until I open the boxes.
I've spent the last few months attempting to rid this house of the piles and piles of useless crap that we have seem to caravan from one location to the next.

There is one box that reads my name and then "bedroom"... that means that box probably PREDATES the husband. We've been together since '01.

That's a long time.

So, I can not WAIT until we are done! The boxes of photographs and letter from people I forgot I used to correspond with. And why do I keep them?
So that at some point down the road I can drag my son up those stairs and sit him down then force him to walk down memory lane with me?

It's not that I want to forget - I think if I'm meant to remember that I will.
You remember what was important to you. You forget the crappy stuff that isn't important at all. And when I find these trinkets I start to question myself about WHY I don't remember certain things... and that's just a whole new level of crazy - even for me.

I'll openly admit this need for freedom and space was part of the change in my life that sprang from having my son, and yes I understand how cliche it is to say "my life started when I had my boy" but cliche or not, it's true. Maybe it was my boy, or the new set of rules that apply to your life when you hold another's so dearly, or maybe it's because the life I used to have seems more like a movie I watched 4 years ago than something that actually happened to me. The only thing I'm sure of is that if I need to put a pin in the point of origin that began the change into I am today it would be October 12th 2008.

It took me 33 years to admit to myself what I wanted and who I wanted to be. 33 years really isn't that long - life is short. Proven fact. Just look, the older you get the faster it moves, by your mid-30's you know you're not going to live for ever so you learn to live for right this second.

Including baby showering you with dirty bath water.

My little moment yesterday that led me to question the piles of crap that are making my attic into a fire hazard only stoke the fire under me to unload all of those things as fast as I can.

There are very few things in this world that we really need. I have my family. I have a few friends that I hold close. I have yoga. I have my words.

The rest of it is just cannon fodder.