We have carried this knowledge for about ten weeks. Ten weeks of knowing there would be no baby to introduce to his or her Winnie the Pooh themed bedroom, the same bedroom that three little girls have come home to over the past six years. Yet we have left the baby's crib standing in the bedroom, stripped but filled with my youngest daughter's overflow of stuffed animals from her own bed. She moved out of the crib before she turned two late this summer which incidentally is when we conceived this baby. I have made so many lists and prepared so many things yet it never, honestly never, occurred to me to remove the crib from their room. I enter that room dozens of times every day and it has not once caught my attention or served as a reminder that there is no need for this particular piece of furniture. I really don't understand why.
So when my husband asked me yesterday if he should take down the crib it caused me to pause for a moment. Yes, I actually had to think about it before answering. Of course the crib should come down. It takes up over half of one wall in the girls' (two youngest) bedroom and by removing the crib it would give them so extra floor space to play in their room. My husband nonchalantly mentioned that he didn't mind taking it down and putting it up again. I love him so much for saying that, for believing that this is not the end, that there is hope. Hope is ever elusive but he captured it for a brief second yesterday and for that I am grateful.
Meanwhile, our children are happily, okay boisterously playing in their newly spacious bedroom at the moment, probably completely unaware at how symbolic the removal of their crib was.