There is a empty crib that sits in my bedroom next to my side of the bed. I placed it there shortly after Russ and I completed our paperwork to become foster parents here in Pennsylvania and I can’t bring myself to take it down.
The Empty Crib
I have considered taking a sledgehammer to the crib on more than one occasion, but at the moment I was ready to swing and destroy it, I stopped myself.
That crib belonged to all of my babies.
It’s the only crib I had from the beginning that has lasted all of these many years…
a stupid, plain, Jenny Lind crib.
Virtually worth pennies,
yet worth millions of memories.
And yet, it now taunts me.
Every time I see it I wonder about the baby that may or may not sleep there.
I wonder how God will give me the strength to get through the next month as we wait to hear that the baby is born and then wait for results to see if it’s my husband’s baby.
My husband’s baby.
Never would I have dreamed I would be in this place.
Some days, I almost function “normal”, like my world didn’t crash in on me a few weeks ago and then I wonder, am I just managing to fool myself?
Because, most days, I just feel…. sad.
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