I first met you in the store when I was 7 months pregnant with the first baby. I was huge, and he was camping out in my ribs. I looked at you and imagined a world full of comfort. So I took you home. We spent weeks of bed rest together, with me sleeping on your cushy arms, swollen ankles up high. I brought a baby home to lay in your midst, and you helped me rock him to sleep.
That baby wasn't very nice to you. He spit up formula on your arms, and may have suffered the occasional leaky diaper. But eventually, you all became fast friends and that was the only place he would sleep alone. We would prop you back and place his sweet head on your cushy arms, and off to dream he would go.
You are not a pretty recliner, no, that wasn't your purpose. Your chocolate micro fiber cushiness was meant for comfort, not for beauty. Sunday naps, reading books and watching movies are some of your favorite activities.
After the first baby was over you, I was not. You had a pregnant partner yet again, and I fell in love with you all over again. Another bed rest, another homecoming with yet another sweet baby infant.
He didn't get along with you very well at first either. He actually threw up all over you, but we got that pretty blanket there and covered you up. You were happy. This one was not that fond of napping in your crevices, but he loved to be rocked to sleep by you. I even bought a fancy pillow for moments when you are feeling jazzy. You liked this.
You are going to live somewhere else tomorrow, although I am unsure of what your location will be. I am saddened by this, but I know we both must move on. Every relationship has this moment, and I have to let you go. I have decided to send you off in style with a grouping of pictures that showcase your beauty, and your memories. Bon Voyage, sweet chocolate cushiness.
|your jazzy pillow.|
|all your crooked beauty|
|pretty sure this is a booger.|
|slobber hand print|
|um, probably a booger too.|
|the multitude of loveliness.|