I Gave Away Your Crib

I gave away your crib and your swing and your mattress among rattles and tiny shoes and tinier socks and other tiny tiny things.

But your crib.

It hit me like an unpredictable ocean wave in the dead of summer when everything is calm and then it's not. I ran my hands over the tiny teeth marks you left when I came in to find you awake from your nap and bouncing with joy to see me, to see your mom. Those tiny teeth marks are with some other family now. And the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart is picturing that nervous mother sitting in her perfectly themed nursery anxiously awaiting her first baby just like I awaited you. That thought brings me joy battling the emotion of letting go, of moving on from your first tiny island, the first place you slept.

I gave away your crib and now I'm weeding thru 4Ts which are too tight on your growing body and I'm letting those go too. I'm letting go of the baby in you and I'm welcoming the child...the boisterous always moving, always a ninja all hours of the day BOY. I'm welcoming YOU.

Your crib may be gone, but I'm gonna hold on to those jammies for a while, you know the ones with the bear wearing glasses. The ones I put on you we both lit up with giggles.

I'm gonna hold onto those just for a little longer.