The Road to No Rails

"There's no crib in this house. I mean - there's NO CRIB in this house!" I half mumbled, half shouted to my husband after a late night check in on the wee one.

I think his response sounded something like a grunt of gratitude, for any "stuff" that leaves this house only delights him.

But the CRIB?!

Seven years ago we shopped for that crib, running our palms against the different woods, dreaming of  snuggly nights perched in a glider, a burrito of a babe tucked in our arms. For hours we dissected spindles and heights, espresso vs. eggshell, contemporary vs. traditional. No drop down of course. Invest or save. Transitional or no.

Weeks later it arrived in all of its espresso glory, fully assembled and ready to hold all of our dreams come true.

Nearly four years later, a few teeth and kick marks worser for the wear, it protected the second son who stole our hearts.

And now, here it sits, leaned against the study wall, ready for it's next baby to have and to hold. Love and protect. Serve as a play thing. Take a licking or two. This crib...

Tossing old onesies, donating no longer loved toys and removing all that's been outgrown has generally been an easy task, making room for the new and exciting while the rest was captured in pictures.

But this crib...

The road to no rails has been an incredible one. I'll never forget all of our sleepless nights, leaning down into it to grab the loves of our lives, their faces as they peer between the bars for the morning greeting, the peeking in to find them more peaceful than you ever imagined...

So that rocker. It's gotta stay for awhile. Because that crib...

Boy, I'm going to miss that crib.