At the end of January, E. and I ran into one of our neighbours on the streetcar.
She was heavily pregnant, and I remembered that her first was still pretty young (under 18 months), so I spontaneously blurted out, “This might be a completely random question, but do you need a second crib?”
She was confused at first. I don’t think she quite remembered who I was or where I lived (three houses down).
Eventually she explained that they had moved their daughter out of her crib and that seemed to be working out, so she thought they’d be ok.
A couple of weeks ago I saw her out walking with her husband, her daughter and her brand new, teeny tiny son.
I said congratulations, admired the baby, asked how everyone was doing (“Great!” she said, “Except we’re getting absolutely no sleep”), and then continued on to the library with E.
She turned up on my doorstep yesterday afternoon.
“Do you still have that crib?” she asked.
She looked exhausted.
Apparently the baby is up for three hours at a time and the toddler is up for three hours at a time and no one is getting any sleep and she and her husband are both going crazy.
I gave her the crib, the mattress, the crib sheets, the instructions, everything.
She wanted to pay me.
I told her I just wanted to know that the crib would be used again.
It was too lovely to sit gathering dust.
It felt so GOOD to give it to her.
It wasn’t bittersweet at all. It was a relief.
The house feels lighter now.