What's that next to the trash can, you ask?
Oh nothing. Just an eleven-year-old crib mattress.
The one that's held Emma, Ben, Josh, Lydia and Afton.
And now it's done.
Eleven years of bearing tiny newborns who barely take up a corner, rowdy toddlers who jump and climb, and every disgrace imaginable involving bodily fluids.
The mattress has been sporting rips and shreds for some time now, and moves on to a new life at the dump.
The crib however, was given a more respectful retirement. It has managed to stand up quite well to all the abuse five kids had to offer it. It is presently disassembled and in the attic, ready for a long hibernation until grandbaby Cruzes have need of it.
. . . . .
Hey look, someone put my baby in a big-girl bed.