The Pudding Cup

I am watching my husband eat a chocolate pudding cup and suddenly I am almost in tears and angry. "Why are you eating that pudding cup?" "Because I wanted pudding..." He looks at me, seeming a little confused. "We bought those pudding cups when Gabriel was still alive..." "We bought pizza too and we don't have those pizza boxes anymore." "That's not the point." He leaves the room, continuing to scoop pudding out and devour it like it's no big deal.
At first I am sitting here, confused at my own reactions over something so small and irrelevant, did I really just almost cry over a pudding cup of all things? I contemplate it for a second, thinking there has to be a reason I am doing it. I think about my behavior lately, what have I been doing? I realize that I am trying to avoid change. Yes. A pudding cup has given me an insight into myself. Within a couple weeks of Gabriel passing we got everything together (his crib, changing table, stroller and car seat) and spent a portion of an afternoon returning it all. I thought if I had gotten rid of it sooner, the better it would be for me in the long run. I spent the next week or so sleeping at my mothers house because I couldn't stand to look at the empty corner of my bedroom. When I did finally come home I still was reduced to tears in the middle of the night and found myself curled into a ball crying in the corner. Since then, I haven't been able to touch anything else in the room. Less than a week before Gabriel's passing my husband had taken christmas lights and hung them on a wall in our room, this way we didn't have to turn on a bright light at night when taking care of Gabriel. They still sit there, hung with such loving care and I don't have the heart or energy to even think about taking them down. In the corner where the crib was lays a pile of bedding we had used. I remember getting it all set up, organizing it so perfectly. I can't even imagine what it was like for my husband who had spent endless hours piecing together the baby furniture, only to take it apart a couple weeks later. I notice I am terrified to clean my room, to move things from where they had been when my baby was still here. My only question is why? Why have I formed such an emotional attachment to petty things? I have a memory box with hand prints, foot prints, pictures...and I am still finding a need to cling on to every little thing. Did I get rid of the crib too soon? Should I have held on to the big things more closely and waited to return them? So many questions still unanswered. I'm thinking I need to pull it together and really clean it up. Move some furniture around even to make it not feel the same, i just don't know if I have the heart to do it yet.