Bittersweet
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Stefania Butler, Citymama |
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Stefania Butler writes a lot about Portland on her blog, CityMama. She used to write about San Francisco. No matter where she is, she writes about her kids.
My baby sleeps in the crib that I slept in when I was a baby. “It’s not safe,” a friend said. “It’s so old. It can’t possibly be safe. I wouldn’t risk it,” said another. But I do. I have. Twice, even. This is the second of my babies to sleep in the crib of my infanthood.
I have never doubted for one minute the integrity of the crib. My grandfather, a landscape architect and hobbyist furniture designer, envisioned that crib especially for me. How could a piece of furniture, lovingly designed by a grandfather for his granddaughter be anything
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The crib is the same honey-brown hue of my older daughter’s Korean-Italian-Irish skin, and the exact color of my baby daughter’s eyes. (She has the Irish genes and will live in SPF 45.) It is smooth and cool and satiny to the touch. It’s made of rosewood, a tropical hardwood that smells faintly sweet and spicy at the same time. Like my girls, I used to teeth on it, so I distinctly remember its clove-y taste.
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