My first baby in the white crib
*100 Beautiful Days of Motherhood: 34
I remember when we first found the crib. It had been tucked away in the attic of our seminary apartment building and forgotten. We were the supervisors of the building, so when no one claimed it, my husband brought it home because my swelling belly reminded him that we were going to need it.
All the parts were there, so we cleaned it and set it up in the walk-in closet of our one-bedroom apartment because there was nowhere else to put a crib. I cried when I saw it and shut the closet door. I was not ready for what that crib represented.
Just a few months later, my first little baby was asleep in that crib. I would stand there next to her and watch her sleep, rolling the word “daughter” around in my mind as if to make the idea less foreign and more real. Some things just take time, I learned. But I didn’t know it then.
There was another baby soon, and another—enough to dull the edges of early motherhood until it did not feel strange to call another person mine.
Every single one of my babies slept in the simple white crib with the arched wood ends and the wheels that liked to fall off if I tried to move it. There were scratchy little teeth marks on the railings from slobbery, teething toddlers and places where the paint had been chipped off by Matchbox car wheels when the twins were supposed to be sleeping, but weren’t.
Years passed the way years do, and it came time to take the crib apart and move the twins into real beds. But I couldn’t do it. I kept them in their cribs even though I often found that Paul had climbed in with Micah. Once or twice, he even got his fat little leg pinned against the wall as he tried to make his escape, and once or twice, he even fell headlong onto the carpet and Micah had to tattle all about it in pantomime because he couldn’t say all the words for “That fool tried it again.”
They needed a real bed, and I knew it.
But there was that crib. The crib that held all the babies that softened my independent, selfish heart into the heart of a mother. How different I had become over the course of the years. How different it felt to set up that crib for the first time than it did to take it down for the last time!
The last time.
That was the thing. Every other time the crib had been vacated, it was because a new baby was getting too big to sleep in the bedroom with me. A new baby needed the spot occupied by a now-big-brother or sister. A new baby had come into the home.
But these little babies stretched up and thinned out and turned into little men right before my very eyes, and there were no more little babies to take their place. There aren’t going to be any more babies.
I took a screwdriver to the old white crib with the scratchy teeth marks and the chipped paint and the railings where five little babies had learned to stand up before they had learned to sit back down.
And I cried hot, mama tears for all of it.
My husband walked by and crinkled up his eyes at me and wrapped me up in a hug because I really am the most psychotic person on the planet.
The white crib has stayed in the garage next to a gnarly old bookcase that needs some attention. I came across it this weekend while I was attempting to organize and straighten out and clean up all the stuff that has piled up in this house. “You should sell that,” my husband said.
I should.
But I am the kind of mother who likes to keep the things that remind me of where I’ve been and what God has done. That simple white crib represents many years of God at work in my life. It is a symbol of my stubbornness and my redemption and the incredible mercy of God. It seems as if things like that should be set up and looked at and remembered. But you can’t very well keep an old white crib forever.
Or can you?
My mind started spinning when I saw the crib in the garage, and while I really didn’t intend to keep it, a crazy idea came into my head. Perhaps I could set up a stone of remembrance in the form of an old white crib. Perhaps I could find a way to keep a memory of the incredible miracle of God in my life. Perhaps the old white crib was not quite ready to move on.
Join me tomorrow to see what became of the crib I couldn’t seem to give away.
My last baby in the white crib
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I’m painfully touched by this, but too tired to cry. Tonight our 4th baby is in our “old white crib” at age 18 months, while I sit here nursing our 5th baby (almost 5 months old). In my heart, I know this is our final baby. The baby that came as an earth-shattering surprise. I’m so thankful that God’s ways are higher than my own; because I never would have had this little guy here in my arms. Your post about your 1st pregnancy struck a nerve, because I had similar feelings with my fifth. I argued with God that He knew I couldn’t handle this life He had created. How very foolish of me! Now, as I look at this sweet one’s face (while in the miry bog of exhaustion) I’m so thankful that I still have one baby waiting his turn for the crib.
How thankful I am that God doesn’t always give us what we want. Blessings to you and your family!
Also I am psychotic as well, my husband can testify to that, so you’re not alone. Nice having company.
Your words are beautiful! I still have my 3rd baby in the crib, the same one they have all shared. Keep your crib for grand babies! I always need a crib at my parents house, Im tired of lugging the pack n play around. Just a thought. 🙂
Isn’t it interesting how once our kids are grown (and we love the fact that they’re growing like they should) we miss the little baby that they were. We miss the soft warmth as we cuddle them and the smell as we nuzzle their neck.
I think back to the time when there were two cribs in our house. We were moving and you and your brother didn’t need to be in cribs anymore and we weren’t planning on a baby number 3 so we sold both cribs (one I really liked and would have liked to keep but we didn’t have anywhere to store something that we didn’t have a need for). And all the while God was laughing because He knew something that I didn’t. When we were selling the cribs we already needed to keep one – I was pregnant and didn’t know it yet. So baby number 3 slept in a borrowed crib! We never did buy another one of our own.
And our grandchildren have to sleep in the old playpen that my parents saved from when I was a baby or else in a Pack n Play. And eat off of the old high chair that my parents also saved.
Our white crib (or cot as we Aussies call it) was made by my kids’ great grandfather for their grandfather when he was born and was used for his 4 siblings. It was also where their father and his siblings slept as babies and where 4 out of 5 of our babies slept. It’s in storage at the grandparents’ place. It is noithing fancy and probably doesn’t meet any government standards, but it has 3 generations of layers of paint and 3 generations of teeth marks in it, and I was thrilled when our daughter said she wants it. We are looking forward to it being occupied again in the near future.
I only had two, the youngest is now 21. Our white crib is in the attic, waiting to harbor grand kids.
Oh, how wonderful this is! Unfortunately, most cribs aren’t deemed safe any more by the government. Shhhh……Please don’t let them know that my son slept in his father’s crib.
I get overly sentimental about “things”. I have three boxes of baby stuff that I am keeping. Some people may say three boxes of baby clothes and blankets is too much, but I am only having one son, so I am keeping stuff!
I stopped at just 2 babies. Now they are actual men.
And the crib they called home has pride of place in my lounge, piled with pillows and used as a cozy reading seat – some things should never just be forgotten.
Lovely remembrances Kristen – even though my kids are big, I like to remember them as small, helpless little beings that loved me absolutely, and I them 😉
I would love a picture of that! It would be lovely to show everyone another idea of how to save a precious remembrance.
This is very touching, Kristen, and brings back memories to me of the old crib that five babies shared. When I realized there weren’t/couldn’t be anymorebabies I cried. I didn’t know the Lord then, either. I remember, though one day the thought was in my head, “With every ending of something there is the beginning of something new.” Though my childbearing/sweet baby days were ending, now was the beginning of these little people starting school, etc. That thought has stood me in good stead through so many endings and new beginnings through the years. God’s wonderous grace!
That is so true. I am thankful for this new stage we’re in right now, when I don’t have any babies. It certainly has it’s own blessings and joys. Not being tied to naps and nursing is one of them! But, getting to watch my kids grow and mature is one of the neatest things I’ve ever known.
Beautifully written. I remember shedding some tears when I took the crib down after baby no.2. I didn’t know then that I’d get to set it back up for my third and final. My husband thinks I’m crazy too… go figure!
I’m glad I’m not the only psychotic mommy!