Senti­men­tal­i­ty is cer­tain­ly a strange and inva­sive beast. It attacks your func­tion­al­i­ty, you don’t even see com­ing for you until you’re caught up in the woes of some­thing ran­dom and total­ly unex­pect­ed. I’m not an over­ly sen­ti­men­tal per­son – I have enough trou­ble keep­ing my house suf­fi­cient­ly declut­tered to hang onto large chunks of the past that take up space in my home and my heart. I have trou­ble with sen­ti­ment – it comes from places that are very warm and very hap­py, but for some rea­son, they hurt like hell.

Avoid­ing any and all things and sit­u­a­tions that had the poten­tial to stir up any sort of emo­tion became impos­si­ble after the birth of our sec­ond child (I held out pret­ty hard­core after the first one though), so in the process of try­ing to incor­po­rate nor­mal emo­tions into my life expe­ri­ence, sen­ti­ment has become a bit of a dou­ble edged sword. Yes, I enjoy gen­uine­ly expe­ri­enc­ing my life with the entire­ty of myself but the emo­tions are super intense, and insane­ly ran­dom.

The first time I real­ly noticed an over­whelm­ing wave of sen­ti­men­tal­i­ty was about a year ago. I had done some very thor­ough spring clean­ing and was in the process of final­ly actu­al­ly get­ting rid of all of the ran­dom crap that had piled up between baby #1 and baby #2. On anoth­er note real quick — it amazes me how quick­ly and arbi­trar­i­ly baby equip­ment goes from being per­fect­ly safe and great to use to being an APA cer­ti­fied death trap. There were only 3 years between the kids, but some­how all of our stuff that we could have poten­tial­ly used for the sec­ond child “expired” or some­thing idi­ot­ic hap­pened to some­one some­where for doing some­thing stu­pid with said prod­uct caus­ing a wave of lit­i­ga­tion, warn­ing labels and recalls… heh, noth­ing lasts for­ev­er, and that’s a guar­an­tee! But any­how, back to spring clean­ing — the point was I had a lot of large baby equip­ment that I was throw­ing away due to the fact that it couldn’t be reused or donat­ed.

Final­ly, I round­ed up all of the ran­dom obtru­sive use­less pieces of crap that had been clut­ter­ing up our house for months… or even years. I was fine. I put every­thing in a trash can and put it out next to the curb for trash pick­up the next morn­ing. I was still fine.

The next morn­ing I hap­pened to be stand­ing in the liv­ing room, look­ing out at the still full trash­can sit­ting on the curb — the trash hadn’t been col­lect­ed yet, despite the fact that it was almost noon. I saw the tip of my daughter’s tur­tle baby bath­tub — some­thing that she hadn’t been able to even fit in for at least two years, and we had stopped using it when she was only 8 months old. At that point, she was almost 4 — need­less to say, the baby bath­tub need­ed to go.

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