Our daughter is almost six now, and I still have boxes of baby clothes and things I’ve saved—just in case we were lucky enough to have another child.

And I keep wondering… how long do I hold onto them?

Because getting rid of them feels like something bigger. Like I’m acknowledging that this is really over.
That this chapter is closing.

And that feels a lot like giving up.

But keeping them doesn’t feel right either.
It feels uncertain. Like I’m stuck somewhere in between.

I haven’t opened some of those boxes in a long time.
Not because I forgot about them… but because I’m not sure what I’d do if I did.

I think I’ve just been leaving them there—
not ready to let go, but not really holding on either.

And the truth is—it’s not really about the items.

It’s about what they represent. What we hoped for.

Because every box is a reminder of everything we went through with IVF… and the quiet reality that it didn’t work.

The amount of tiny onesies I’ve saved is honestly a little ridiculous. But some of them are special.

Some of them hold memories— of a time when everything still felt possible.

I know I can get rid of some of them.
I probably should.

But I also know… I need to keep a few.

Maybe it’s not really about what you do with the baby stuff.

Maybe it’s about figuring out what you’re ready to let go of… and what you’re not.

And maybe, for now, it’s okay that I’m still somewhere in between.