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I donated our crib today.
No, not that kinda of crib..the other kind.
This crib has seen two babies up in it, and grow out of it.
This crib has seen many sleepless nights.
Many “escape” attempts.
And many occasions of chubby legs getting stuck between the rails.
Oh yeah, and lots of barf…
..yes, I cleaned it up and sterilized it before I donated it.
With a mixture of jubilation and great sorrow, I loaded it into my Rav 4. It just barely fit.
Jubilation comes from knowing the days (and nights) of midnight feedings, explosive diapers, spit-up, colic, pacifiers, cradle cap, thrush, and lost lovies are gone. Our “baby” turns 5 years old next month.
The sorrow comes from knowing there are no more tiny toes, baby bellies, cuddling during bottle feedings, and that precious irreplaceable “baby smell”.
My ovaries are weeping. And these ovaries turn 45 at the end of this month. If I wasn’t so darn old, you’re darn tootin right I’d have more babies.
With bittersweet thoughts, I turned our memory-filled crib over to the grateful workers at our local donation center. I know they will find a good home for it. Some family will be thrilled to get it as they enter The Season of Parenthood.
Now the only one bawling like a baby..is me.