When my children were babies, the crib was in our room for our convenience. When I got up dark and early in the morning, trying to be quiet lest I wake Mom and Baby, I would often reach out a hand to the corner of the crib to steady myself and locate myself in the dark room before heading toward the door.
My youngest is 17 years old. The crib days were a long time ago.
All this week, as I rise for work dark and early in the morning, I find my hand reaching out for the crib that is not there, to steady myself on something that turns out to be only in my memories.
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