I waited and waited and waited to get to be a mom.
And finally, my wish came true.
Dave and I had been married for a little over a year and those two little pink lines finally showed up on the pregnancy test. My heart was pumping. I was so excited I could hardly stand it. It was still dark…early morning, but I hadn’t been able to sleep. I couldn’t wait to take that test. I had taken a few of them before. Negative. But this time before I even took it I knew it was what I had been waiting for. And I was right.
I woke Dave up, my whole body shaking with excitement. It was time. I was finally there. The whole world of motherhood was on the horizon. And I was in pure heaven.
This thing’s gone through the works. It’s held my five precious babies over and over again. It’s been drooled on, thrown up on, had spaghetti and baby food smeared into it’s crevasses uncountable times. The seat padding has been replaced, the tray slants down in front from so many older siblings hanging on it trying to amuse sweet babies as they eat, so now Cheerios and puddles of milk slip away from the baby because of the angle. The other day when Dave was moving it the bottom snapped. So now when Lu sits in it the legs slump down into the shape of a squashed capital “A.” And finally I realized it’s time for it to retire.
It’s done it’s job, and it’s done it well. It’s completely thrashed.
So why does it still make me so sad to see it sitting out next to the garbage can?