¿Todavía me queda?

Little Ernie watched as the boxes appeared, one by one, filling the hallway with the scent of forgotten treasures. A new little sister was on her way, and with her arrival came the gentle, yet insistent, shift of his world. Mama would hold up a tiny onesie, soft and worn, and ask, "¿Todavía me queda?" - Does it still fit me? But it wasn't for him anymore. It was for the baby.

He saw his small, blue rattle, the one that made such a satisfying noise when he shook it just right. His old blanket, frayed at the edges from countless snuggles. Even his favorite teddy bear, with its button eye missing, seemed to be looking at him with a question in its stuffing. Each item brought a tiny pang to Ernie's heart. These were *his* baby things.

Mama, with her kind smile, would explain that the baby would need these things, just like Ernie once did. She would show him how sweet the baby would look in his tiny sweater, or how soft the blanket would feel against her cheek. Ernie tried to imagine it, but it was hard when all he could think about was saying goodbye to his cherished past.

But then, a thought sparked in Ernie's mind. Maybe, just maybe, not *everything* had to go. He looked at his teddy bear, then at Mama. "Mama," he might whisper, holding the bear a little tighter, "this one... ¿Todavía me queda?" And Mama, understanding the special bond, would nod, a gentle smile gracing her lips. Some things, after all, are too precious to ever truly outgrow.