The 6th Sense

Aoife had a hard time tonight at bedtime. It is our first night home after almost a month at the cottage. I went back to her after tucking her in, and took her out of her bed and held her in the rocking chair, rocking back and forth, singing softly. I breathed deeply, sucking in the warm night air, feeling the darkness settle.

I started to think about the nursery. I am so emotionally attached to the nursery. I had always assumed that the nursery would simply be passed on from baby to baby until we decided, intentionally, that our family was complete. So what now? Now that babymaking has been unofficially all but suspended, and my daughter nears two and a half? Her new room sits next door, bed made, ready for her to move in at any time. Although I have told her the new bed is for "when she's three", suddenly that time is seeming not that far away. So what happens to the nursery?

Maybe this is all part of it, I thought, the part of letting go. The part of separating what is Charlotte's from what is now, and realizing that keeping the nursery the way it is isn't making me any closer to her. This might be it, a cleansing of sorts, to just take the crib apart and take a deep breath and realize that the world continues to spin when the nursery isn't there. It could be good. A new start. If a new baby ever did come, we could always put it back.

So I started imagining. Could we move the kids beanbag chairs in, maybe with some bookcases? Or it could be an art studio, with all their things up there, and smocks and shelves overflowing with materials. Or, I could put the Brio trains up there, along with other "big" toys, move those out of the living room. I was wondering where we might store the dismantled crib.

Suddenly, Aoife perked up. "I want this to be my room," she said.
"What did you say, honey?"
"This nursery. I want it to be Aoife's room."

I took in a sharp breath. It was as if I had been speaking aloud.

Only I hadn't been.