Black Monstrosity

There once was a chair. It was a big, puffy, black, pleather concoction purchased for $80 on sale at K Mart in O'Fallon, Missouri.  It was hideous; not the kind of piece you'd ever imagine that I would even allow in my house.  Back in the days when we tried to not spend any money at all, J and I bought it for the birth of our first sweet baby.  We even named it Black Monstrosity, and it was the most comfortable chair in the world.  Ever. 

And I spent many, many, many nights, over the past 10 years rocking fussy babies back to sleep, or just rocking them and watching the sun come up because I knew that if I blinked the rocking would be over.  So I rocked and rocked, and watched the sun come up from the comfiest place in our home.  And then one day (not sure when it happened), I realized that Black Monstrosity had become my 'stuff-that-doesn't-have-a-place holder', and that my smallest baby now scooters around the cul-de-sac.  I made plans to replace Black Monstrosity with Perfect Tufted Linen Bedroom Reading Chair.

Then one day (today) someone called and told me of a family that had--literally--nothing.  And I thought "Perfect!  I'll give them Black Monstrosity!", because besides being the most comfortable chair ever, apparently pleather never ages and it looks fabulous.  And then I blinked, and Black Monstrosity was gone.

And I swallowed hard.

Because I realized that Black Monstrosity was gone.  And with it, the phase of life where I was rocking babies and whispering how glad I was to meet them, how much I loved them, and please don't grow up too fast.  The nights of watching the sun rise with a sighing, milky baby curled on my chest were over, because now we all [mostly] sleep through the night, even though I swore I was going to be tired forever. 

It was like a chapter closed with such finality, and unleashed a torrent of hot, ridiculous tears.  I found myself on the phone crying to Mandy, because I knew she'd understand and cry right along with me.  And I don't have a picture of the hideous wonderfulness, because I'd made sure that didn't happen.  I didn't even sit in it for the last time, because I was too busy digging crayons and stray baby socks out of the seat.  I wish I could rock them all one last time.

...Just now, as I was typing, my 8 year old came downstairs because he had a nightmare.  I said "Come here."  I pulled him into my lap, and hugged him tight and whispered that I'm so glad he's in our family, and I love him so much, and please don't grow up too fast.

He said, "I'll try."  (And looked a little confused because I was crying over his bad dream).

I think I'll be okay.