By Kerri Havnen Gordon

Every mother has vestiges of her children’s babyhood that she finds difficult to relinquish. Mine is my sons’ shiny white Morigeau crib, which despite the fact that my babies are now teenagers, still sits in our garage.

When we set up the crib before the birth of our first son, it was hard to imagine the babies who would one day occupy it. My hopes were high that at least two little cherubs would rest peacefully there.

Sure enough, our two boys spent a combined six years with the crib as their bed. They cut their teeth on the rails, leaving tiny divots in the wood. They cooed, cried and eventually spoke. They awoke from their naps all sweaty and rosy-cheeked. Our older one even went through the 1989 earthquake sitting in the crib when he was 10 months old. He had been playing with his crib toy when the shaking started. I remember that his tiny hands dropped to his side as he began to bounce around.

When we were six years into parenthood, our younger son was ready for a “big boy bed,” signaling the time to dismantle the crib. While he stood there all excited about this milestone, I squelched the urge to cry. I knew it was likely that my days as the mother of babies were over, but I couldn’t bring myself to part with the crib. Fortunately, my closest friend, Shandy, was starting her family and was happy to borrow the bed for her babies.

And so it was that three more little ones used our crib, including my godson, Liam. But wouldn’t you know it, soon Shandy’s family was complete, too. Did we want the crib back, she wondered, or should we give it to Goodwill? My husband, knowing how attached I was to it, didn’t say much as he tucked the crib into the back corner of our garage. It wasn’t logical to keep it, but keep it we did.

About a year ago, I noticed the crib had been moved to the front of the garage. I didn’t dare ask if this was intended as a hint or if my husband had simply moved it to retrieve something else. All I knew was that it mocked me daily. “You aren’t having any more babies,” it seemed to say. “Get rid of me!” But I rationalized its presence with thoughts of grandchildren.

Not very rational, I know.

This month we began preparations to move out of our home to make way for a major remodel. Storage at our rental house is almost non-existent, leaving no room to keep items for which we have no use. I expect that the time has finally come for me to part with the most tangible link to my sons’ babyhood.

After 16 years the crib will soon leave us. Two years from now our older son will leave us, too, when he goes to college. Three years later his brother will also go, and I can’t imagine how all this will feel. All those nights laying my babies down to sleep and seeing their beautiful faces when they later awoke, all those years we’ve spent together since then, and I am stunned by how quickly it all went by.

June is the month to think of such things. Our kids complete yet another round of school, progressing from one grade to another until one day, they graduate from kindergarten, grade school, junior high and eventually high school. When that day comes, we’ll remember them as babies, asleep in their cribs, darling as can be, with their entire lives ahead of them.