We had a huge yard sale on Saturday – sold tons of stuff that has been accumulating in our garage. I’m constantly amazed at what people buy, and how my friend Tracy can find the best things EVER, when I’m only selling junk.
However, it was with a bit of sorrow that we sold…
The high chair
I married at 32, so I knew my child bearing years were limited. We didn’t get pregnant until I was 34 and had our last at 39. Our youngest was born with a congenital heart defect, and when your genes start morphing at 39, the thought of rolling the dice again on getting pregnant, is severely repressed. Now after our son’s successful open heart surgery, his three years of physical and speech therapy, and my advanced age of 42, I think my womb is officially closed.
But that didn’t make it any easier when I saw the buyer of the crib load it up haphazardly in the back of his pick-up. I wanted to shout, “Please be careful – that crib has been the sanctuary for my three precious children! It is where they all learned to sleep through the night. One end was put up on books, so when my son was recovering, he could sleep on an angle. It has been climbed out of, thrown up on, and shaken to bits. I hope it will take care of your babies like it has taken care of mine.”
But regret seeped back into my heart today when I was reading an article in the Dentist’s office on Meryl Streep, and that she had her last baby at 43. “Gosh,” I thought to myself, “I still have time -- I need my crib back!” But I was also reminded that Ms. Streep has a bigger paycheck, a bigger house, and a lot more resources, than I do at present. I barely have enough space for the three I have or, after the summer from Hell, the patience.
So, my womb will remain closed. The crib will provide sweet, peaceful, dreams for some other child. And I will continue to enjoy my cleaned out garage.