We agreed to start small, choosing a neutral area and a limited time frame. I can't speak for him, but I was prepared to be ruthless -- kinda. I was doing pretty well, too.
Until we got to the crib.
The child who slept in that crib is now in college. It has been packed away in a box, in pieces, for nearly two decades. In that time, new safety standards have been issued so that, no matter how many wonderful memories I associate with this piece of furniture, no future parents will want to use it -- nor should they.
There is no logical reason to keep it.
And yet...I couldn't bring myself to agree to get rid of it.
Today, as I wrote this post, I looked up the safety standards for cribs. Sure enough, drop side cribs (like the one we have in the basement) are no longer recommended -- and haven't been for seven years. The only thing this piece of furniture we so painstakingly selected, put together and, to the sad, sad dismay of my daughter, dismantled is good for is taking up space.
Though I know I have a sentimental streak, I'm not sure why this is such a challenge -- why I need to remind myself that the crib is unsafe in order to do the smart thing and recapture a rather substantial bit of floorspace in my basement. I write about organization, for heaven's sake. I should know that all the memories -- from the time we wandered around the Just For Kids Furniture Store comparing this crib to that one, up to the day my daughter sadly watched as my husband took apart the crib so she could have a big girl bed -- are mine to keep, whether the crib stays or goes.
|cablemarder via Pixabay|
But I have no other solutions and, if childhood rules apply, safety-related decisions are non-negotiable.
Maybe I just need to take another page out of my daughter's childhood book. It's okay if my husband takes the crib to the curb.
I just don't want to see him do it.