The Crib

My granddaughter will be spending the night soon, so I had Andy take the crib out of the rafters and set it up for her. When assembled, the room started dancing with memories of rosy cheeked, sleepy eyed children that one by one had once claimed occupancy of this bed.

Gouges along the head and foot boards chronicle the eruption of baby teeth. The plastic covering, that protects the side rails from these same sharp teeth, is brittle and crumbling. The kick rod that drops one side rail is bent with over use. The mattress, purchased for the last occupant, still in reasonably good condition, yet gives up a few ghost of its own.

My minds eye is seeing the tousled heads of each of these children. I see their little faces and each individual expression as I lift them from their confinement so unique to each, is clearly remembered. This one with sensitive skin has yet another red rash on her cheek, struggles still with such troubles. The other, insistent that she climb from this bed on her own, defiantly self reliant today. The last, with a riot of curls as unruly as she, and befitting her personality, is as if dropped into the wrong decade, a flower child of modern day.

I am anticipating seeing yet another cherub face looking up at me with wide eyed innocents. Harried mothers don’t often realize how fleeting time can be. This mother, having an understanding of this on some intellectual level, was unprepared for the kaleidoscope of emotional memories one crib could evoke. The chasm of time between then and now seems immense, but in my heart it was but yesterday.