The Bassinet I Couldn't Let Go Of (Until I Had To)

The Real-Life Mom Moment That Caught Me Off Guard

We’ve been purging baby things lately.

My son is now 17 months old (18 months the end of this week).
My daughter is 4½.

We’re officially out of the baby season and not just emotionally, but physically.
I no longer have a uterus (long story). We’re not having any more kids. 

My daughter was our IVF miracle after ten cycles and a heartbreaking journey filled with loss, statistics, and nearly giving up.
And then… out of nowhere, when I thought I was starting menopause, we got the surprise of our lives: our son.

So yes, we know we’re done.
That chapter is closed.

And I’ve been okay. Surprisingly okay.
I thought I’d be more emotional going through all the baby gear, but I’ve been fine with donating, selling, passing things on.

Until the bassinet.

The One Item I Couldn't Let Go Of

It was a HALO Bassinest.
One of those bedside bassinets with the side that lowers down, perfect for C-sections, which I had with both babies.

It sat in our bedroom long after it had been used. I’d posted it on Facebook Marketplace… but if I’m being honest, I overpriced it on purpose.
Because I wasn’t really ready.
Not yet.

This bassinet held more than just two babies.
It held midnight feeds and 3 a.m. worries.
It held whispered lullabies and that sacred in-between space where newborn dreams and exhausted mom hearts meet.

It was my babies' first real bed when they came home.
Especially for my son, who spent his first six weeks in the NICU.
This was where I finally got to keep him close, where he finally got to just be mine.

The Unexpected Goodbye

Last night, while reading bedtime stories to my daughter, a message popped up:

“Is the bassinet still available? I need it ASAP.”

I didn’t ask for details.
I didn’t need to know.

Maybe it was a foster placement.
Maybe a family emergency.
Maybe a fire or unexpected birth.

I just knew I was supposed to say yes.

So I finished reading, tucked my daughter in, and quietly gathered everything… the bassinet, accessories, instructions. I met the woman at 8:30 p.m. and handed it over.

She messaged me later to thank me.
I told her:
“There are a lot of memories attached to that bassinet. I hope it brings it’s new occupant comfort, joy, and beautiful new memories too.”

She heart-reacted to the message.
nd I cried.

The Grief I Didn’t Expect

I didn’t show it right away.
I told my husband, and of course, he brushed it off like I knew he would.
But this…
This one hit hard.

It’s not about wanting another baby.
It’s about the ache of knowing I’ll never again feel that exact season.
That I’ll never again look over at my bedside and see their tiny faces swaddled beside me.
Never again hear their sleepy coos at 2 a.m.
Never again stand over that bassinet whispering, “Just go to sleep, sweet baby.”

And I’d give anything, just one day, to go back and hold them as newborns.
Just once more.

Final Thought: Where Joy and Grief Can Coexist

I don’t know what the exact lesson is here.

Maybe it’s this:
Motherhood is full of moments where two things exist at once.

Pride and pain.
Joy and grief.
Excitement for who they’re becoming…
And heartbreak for the versions of them they leave behind.

That bassinet held more than my babies.
It held me, a version of me that existed only in those quiet, early moments of motherhood.
And now, it’s gone. And that’s okay.
Because maybe it’s meant to hold another baby now.

But today?
Today I miss mine.