Yesterday, I was rummaging in the garage for Christmas stuff, and I came across a bin labeled “Baby Clothes”.

I wonder what’s really in here, I thought. I popped the lid, and was surprised to find, um, baby clothes. They smelled like they’ve been in a bin in the garage for 4 years.

I came across another bin that was similiarly labeled, and sure enough, baby blue onesies appeared when I popped that top, too. I could have sworn I’d given all this away—why did I still have it?

And then I remembered when I was packing all of it up. I carefully packed a box full of 6-12 months clothes, and gave it to my neighbor, whose son had just had baby twins. I was emotional about it, and had to take a deep breath as I folded it all up. Giving away the baby clothes represented giving up, giving away my hopes for another child. I decided I couldn’t give up the newborn stuff, justifying to myself that I should hang on to some of it, just in case. Just in case. In my mind at the time, I thought I was hanging on to just a tiny bit. Two bins, that wasn’t so much, right?

We paid movers to lug all that CRAP.

That what’s I see now when I look at those bins–clutter in my garage that should have been tossed a long time ago. But since the clothes been sitting in a garage for a few years, they need to be washed again before I can, in good conscience, give it all away. I found myself annoyed and irritated looking at those clothes, not because we never got another baby boy, but because my own sentimentality has caused me more work in the long run. Because getting rid of it now is going to be a bigger pain than if I had just dumped it all on my neighbor 4 years ago. She would have been happy to have it–her son and DIL were flat broke and, according to her, desperately needed the basics for their twins. In hindsight, it seems selfish to have kept it all.

Which means that I’ve moved on. I never thought I would, but I have. Getting rid of baby stuff no longer seems heartwrenching, it seems like a necessity. With a little bit of time and distance, those years of sharp heartache have softened into a blur. I never ever thought they would. It helps, of course, that we were blessed with another child, but we still didn’t get the family that we wanted or planned for.

Yesterday was the first sign that I might just be okay with that. I’m not saying I’m totally okay with it, but I realize that I’m getting there. Little by little, I’m getting there.

In the meantime, I’ll be looking for somebody who needs some baby boy clothes. I promise I’ll wash them first.