I am notoriously bad at goodbyes. I often opt for the safer “See ya later…” when faced with a potentially sad situation. One recent farewell caught me off guard because of how unexpectedly hard it ended up being. I’m talking about our crib.
The simple white crib that’s been up in our home for the past six years of our lives. My parents helped us put it together in the tiny townhome we lived in while saving money for a house. My brother and sister-in-law worked meticulously for hours on a beautiful white tree wall decal that was, in hindsight, a huge pain in the rear to actually put up. But it framed that white crib perfectly as we waited for our firstborn to arrive. I remember sitting in the nursery when I was still pregnant, not realizing how much joy and frustration that crib would hold for several years.
The crib made the move to our new home when we got pregnant again, and ran out of bedrooms for a second child. It stayed standing while we moved my then 2-year-old to her big girl bed so we could make room for the new baby. It’s been the place we’ve laid our youngest for the past three years. And, quite frankly, I would have kept laying her there except for the fact that her little feet now stick out the bottom.
Her arms and legs are longer and lankier and banging against the sides of that beloved crib every night. She got the chance to sleep in her older sister’s twin size bed recently and promptly woke up from a good night’s sleep declaring that, she too, needed a big girl bed. It happened faster than I wanted, but it was probably best. My neighbors happened to ask if we wanted a mattress, and my parents happened to have a twin size bed to give to us. So, in one quick Sunday, it happened.
As my husband went to get tools to dismantle the crib, and my 3-year-old cheered, I ran my hands over this crib. I saw the bite marks my older daughter made when trying to soothe her gums while teething. I reflected about standing over that crib with pure joy running through my veins and at other times with overwhelming frustration, questioning what I was doing wrong that was preventing peaceful sleep. I became very familiar with the legs of the crib as I log rolled away from them after laying on the floor, desperately praying for my baby to fall (and stay!) asleep.
This one piece of furniture just has so many memories wrapped up in its simple structure. Taking it down felt like an end to a chapter that I’m not sure I’m ready to close.
I always thought I’d immediately lend the crib to a friend or sell it. But, for now at least, it will stay safely in storage in our basement, where I can go and run my hands over those bite marks whenever I need to.
