This Old Chair

This old chair. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep it when we moved to our new house. It’s ugly. It’s raggedy. It’s got more baby spit-up, toddler boogers, and post-partum breast milk soaked into its upholstery than I’d like to admit. After five and a half years and three babies, it’s just… gross.
 
But I couldn’t bear to get rid of it. Because all these years, every single night—and every single afternoon nap—I’ve rocked my babies in this big, clunky, smelly chair. I’ve sung lullabies, read books, and told stories in this chair, all while holding my three babies close, their tiny bodies melting into mine. I’ve sat in it for hours on end, staring into the dark room, humming until my babies fell into a deep sleep before I gently laid them into their cribs. It is stained with coffee and drenched in memories.
 
Just like every other piece of furniture in this old house. But I’m not keeping everything. And we’re not keeping the house.
 
And, I realized, the day I do get rid of this chair, I won’t be tossing my memories, or trashing the past. I’ll probably shed a few tears when I dump the chair, just like I did when I walked through this empty house. But my memories don’t live in the dining room walls or the kitchen cabinets. The past won’t be sold with this old house. They won’t fade like this old chair.
 
I’ll miss this old house, but not because of the skylights or the laundry chute. I’ll miss the season it represented: when my babies were babies. And when I rock my children for the last time in this old chair, I won’t miss it because I loved the chair. I’ll miss the feeling of pressing chubby cheeks into mine; I’ll miss the sound of squeaky voices singing, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” along with me.
 
I am so grateful for this old house. My children grew from babies to toddlers within these walls. It was a perfect house for the last six years. But it’s time to move on, and I can’t take it with me.
 
This chair, though—I’m gonna take it with me. I’m going to hold onto it a little bit longer, and I’m going to soak up my babies a little bit longer. I’m not going to rush their childhood. I’m gonna sit here, in this old chair, and enjoy every little reminder of our beautiful life.