I am not an overly sentimental person.
Emotional? Yes. Dramatic. You bet. But sentimental? Not particularly.
I didn’t keep a pregnancy journal. I don’t have locks of my kids’ hair tucked away in their baby books. I don’t swoon over my children’s art projects. And the markings on their height chart stop in 2013.
I have always been content to say goodbye to the past, and move on to the next phase of their rapidly-changing childhood, to let go of one season so that we could move into the next. But when I packed up their old crib two years ago so that my niece could share in its coziness space of slumber, I was hit by a wave of emotion so strong and shocking I was nearly knocked to my knees, head in my hands, tears falling.
Nonetheless, for two years, my niece slept in that crib and now it is her younger brother’s turn to sleep there. Shortly after he was born, our extended family spent the afternoon together celebrating the newest member to the family. While my sons played with their 2-year-old cousin, my husband joked with his brother. My father-in-law watched baseball while my mother-in-law held the new baby. I chatted with my sister-in-law in the kitchen, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the crib in the baby’s room. Eventually, I wandered in to have a look.