Last Friday as I was doing some cleaning in the kitchen, I came across the diaper bag. This was our second diaper bag. We used diaper Bag #1 with Henry for awhile, and then that one met it’s end after years of use and abuse.
So we moved onto Diaper Bag #2, which took us through Meredith. It wasn’t very fancy. It had been given to us by the hospital when Henry was born. We just had it around as an extra.
As you can see from the picture above, it was falling apart.
Meredith is potty-trained and just started pre-school. I can’t remember the last time I had to change her diaper while being out at the mall or in the grocery store or at a restaurant or at a friend’s house. I can’t remember the last time I needed to change her clothes because she had an accident. I can’t remember the last time I took the diaper bag with me anywhere. I can’t remember the last time I needed to check the diaper bag.
When I looked at the bag, still filled with a box of wipes, some mis-matched socks, a tiny green toy camera, lots of unused tissues, a few used and dried tissues tucked into a side pocket, with its ripped sides, and stained pockets and compartments, I knew it needed to be thrown out. Into the big brown trash bin outside it went.
Later in the day, at a picnic for my wife’s department, I saw some friends with their three-month-old son and their three-year-old daughter. They said to me, “Please tell us there is light at the end of the tunnel!”
I laughed and told them, “You’ll never believe this. But today I threw out the diaper bag. We no longer need it.”
“What is that like?”
“It feels awesome.”