We are moving. Specifically we are moving from a spacious 3 bedroom house with a large finished basement to a tiny 2 bedroom apartment. Downsizing therefore is imperative. So we begin the process of weeding out stuff we don't need. Not the stuff we no longer want but rather we must strip down to what do we need in this tiny apartment. Since I am a control freak I do most of the weeding myself. My husband is very much "just get rid of it" mentality and I simply cannot get rid of anything without a discussion about it. So I am mostly doing this myself. Which brings me to the corner of the basement. Oh that corner. We have an unused changing table. And unlike my bottle sterilizer this changing table was going to be used. I bought it when I was about 8 weeks pregnant. I was elated for the purchase. It was on sale and beautiful. If you have been reading the posts you know why I never used it. But I had the hope of using it. I had the hope that I would quickly become pregnant again and dust it off and use it. Or at least be able to make a legitimate claim that we need it in Boston. But I don't. One year almost exactly and I am still not pregnant despite trying. I have no use or foreseeable use for a changing table. I don't need it and that is the worst part.
Its not just a changing table. It is the most tangible reminder that my life took a turn I never expected. It is a dust caked relic of my dreams for a large family. It was proof that I was still hopeful that I would be able to quickly use it.
We sold it at the garage sale for 17 dollars. I don't know if I am relieved to not have to look at it and its taunting reminders or if I feel like I sold my dream for so cheap. As though I somehow gave up and resigned myself to not needing a changing table. Did the woman who bought it notice my teared up eyes and plastered on fake smile?
It wasn't just a changing table.
