On growing up

I imagine it would surprise most people to know that Pumpkin still sleeps in a crib.  She is fast approaching four years old and I realize most children move out of the crib and into a bed long before then.  It doesn't strike me as odd mainly because I have always been one to delay the move out of the crib as long as possible.  Big J was exactly three when he was bumped from the crib in anticipation of the arrival of Little T.  And Little T also remained in the crib until he was three even though there was no one coming along after him at that point.  But Pumpkin has definitely set the record in this household.

I remember clearly Little T's move out of the crib mainly because I wasn't here for it.  When Big J was in Kindergarten, he and I went to visit friends of ours who had moved to Paris.  It was a big adventure for my little guy and I, and we left Little T and Superdad at home to fend for themselves (grandma came to take care of Little T during the day).  At some point when we were away Superdad got a wild hair and decided it was time to move Little T from the crib and into the toddler bed that Big J had previously occupied.  By the time I came home, the crib had been taken down and there was this little big boy bed in its place.  I was stunned.  In truth, I was a little angry.  How could he make such a momentous decision in my absence?  How could my baby boy not have needed his mommy to help him through this transition?  How could they both be acting like it was positively no big deal??

The crib had been taken down and remained so for a long time after.  We were hoping for another child, we were trying for another child, but another child remained an illusion.  

We lost the twins before we had even had a chance to set that crib back up again.  We had started discussions of buying a second crib but had decided in the early weeks they could sleep together in one crib.  After they died, I gave the crib away.  I gave a lot of things away, in fact. All of those boxes of baby clothes and pieces of furniture felt far too hopeful.  They represented a faith in something that I couldn't muster at the time and I needed them to go away.

My sister helped me sort through the mounds of baby clothes I had left over from the boys.  She encouraged me to keep several of my favorites and then she bagged up the rest and took them over the mountains to share with her sister in law, who was in need of baby boy clothes.  

Superdad watched my sorrowful, maniacal purge with patience.  He let me give it all away, even driving the crib himself to the Catholic church down the street who would be able to give it to a young mother in need.  A friend, who helped arrange for the crib donation, asked me gently, are you sure?  I simply said, yes.  

When I became pregnant again, and all throughout those long 40 weeks, Superdad never once said anything to the effect of, we never should have given all that away.  Never once.  He let me set my own timeline as to when and how to plan for this new life, and never said a word about the dollars that were spent to replace items we had previously owned.

My mother and father bought Pumpkin a new crib.  A few weeks before she was due to be born Superdad and I set it up in her freshly painted nursery.  Neither one of us spoke of the optimism being expressed in those spring green walls, upholstered rocking chair and flowery crib bumpers.  In the end, we could no longer speak of our fears, or our hopes, we just forged ahead.

Once the crib was set up, I remember sitting for a long time in the rocking chair looking around her room.  With my eyes wide open I began to picture her in every corner of that room.  I could see her in her crib.  I could feel her in my arms.  I imagined her twirling before her closet trying to decide what to wear.  I could see her.  Everything in me felt that if I could imagine her vividly enough, I could will her into existence.

Last night, Pumpkin complained again that she was ready to sleep in her big bed.  It's already there.  She has always had a twin bed in her room, left over from when that room was Little T's room.  But it has been only recently that she has begun to understand that bed is her bed, and available to be slept in.  Once again I promised her that we would get a rail for the bed soon and she would be able to sleep in it.  I reminded her that she doesn't want to fall out of the bed and so we need to wait until we have a rail for it.  

A pink rail, she reminds me.  

Yes, a pink rail, I tell her. 

I imagined the empty space that will be left when the crib is taken down in this house for the last time.  And then I imagined all of the moments and memories that will come along to fill that space.  She is here, just as I pictured.  And the last thing I should wish for is for time to stand still.