I spent an hour this afternoon, while AJ played on my computer, trying to free up some room in our basement storage area. With the arrival of new stuff at Christmas, I inevitably become a clutter-phobe shortly thereafter and I like to take advantage of the throw-everything-away-now impulse to keep the crap to a minimum. Unfortunately, this particular storage area is actually thinly disguised emotional quicksand. First there�s the battered footlocker � the one I christened by taking to my first sleepaway camp at age 8 -- of old journals, Girl Scout badges and a sheaf of letters from old friends (with a few particularly hot or poignant letters from old boyfriends carefully hidden in the middle). Then there�s the cardboard box that contains negatives and unalbumed photos from our wedding, along with assorted cards and a picture of my gown. This box also contains a smaller box with two tiny knit caps, one emblazoned with the Northwestern Memorial Hospital logo and a pile of cards reading �Congratulations! It�s a Boy!� and the like. But all this is nothing compared to the gazillion boxes of clothes on the top shelf. AJ�s clothes. The ones he�s outgrown.

These boxes are the worst because each time I attempt to sort through them, I am forced to face again the fact that we are still undecided about the second child thing. What am I saving all these clothes for? Some of them have nostalgia value, true. I have saved the soft blue suit AJ wore for his trip home from the hospital. I have, of course, saved his baptism clothes, which were originally worn by his father. And his first pair of shoes, the tiny red sneakers that were the first thing I bought for him before he was born have a special place in my heart. But why am I saving the plain white cardigan in size newborn? Because it�s little and cute? Or because it might be worn again?

Today I actually found myself writing absurd math problems to answer these questions for me, to wit: If there�s a 50% chance that we will have a child and, if we do, a 50% chance that the child will be another boy and 50% of the clothes would be unsuitable for a girl, what percentage of the boy clothes should I get rid of?

In the end, I couldn�t solve the problem. The baby clothes are back on the shelf to taunt me another day. AJ, however, is a constant reminder of why I hold onto them. He attempted to try on one of his baby hats today because he couldn�t believe his head had actually been that small. And he pointed out that his favorite shoes are still red sneakers.

[Second entry today. Click back for fun in the snow]

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