A year.

A lot of times I walk past it on my way to do other things without even thinking.

Most days I can pass by it at least once without noticing it there.

Every day I look at it and think of how empty it is.

I’ve thought about taking it apart and putting it in the garage, where I will not see it as often, or be tempted to picture him there.

I’ve stood before it crying because it isn’t being used.

I’ve wondered why it remains in my home even though I don’t think it will ever have use here again.

I contemplate whether it is unhealthy.  I worry that it means I’m broken.

I’m not ready for it to go anywhere.  I’m not entirely sure what that means.  I know what you think it may mean.  It’s not that.  I’m just not ready.

I know that at some point I will be.  And then I will do it myself, and it will be okay.

But for now it stays.

There is a crib in my hallway.  It is wooden, and lonely, and it just waits and waits for a someday that never was.

It’s been a very long year.

One step closer to being free of Doodie Duty.

The potty has moved
slowly across the first floor
towards the bathroom

for a short time now,
and yesterday something cool
happened in that room.

A certain little
boy ran in, looked around and
chose the higher stool.

He WANTS to pee on
the toilet now and can do
it all by himself!

Now if we can just
address this annoying thing
called “shitting in pants.”