Melancholy Milestone

I'm feeling melancholy today. I managed to tint my hair Havana Brown today in order to look a little less geriatric before next weekend's 5K walk/run but have not moved far from the security of the couch. After a few hours of typing bone scans in my bathrobe this morning, any motivation I had once is long gone. When I went to check on Erik, who didn't seem to be settling down for his nap late into the morning hours, I found a complete disaster zone. Erik was standing tall in his crib, proudly looking down at an initially unidentifiable pile of fluffy debris. On closer examination, I recognized it as handfuls of material torn from the innards of his crib mattress, liberated by thick, brutal toddler hands (poor muscle tone, my foot). I called Brian in to survey the damage and make a final declaration regarding the appropriate disaster measures. He agreed we had a four-alarm state of emergency. We nodded at each other and looked down at the crib, which was being held together in one place by a golf tee strategically crammed tightly in a hole where some sort of metal fastener used to be at one time. We decided it was time to say goodbye to this particular piece of furniture.

As the walls of the crib were dismantled and taken away to the attic, I lit the Yankee candle nearby that my sister-in-law gave me long ago as part of a baby shower gift. Over the last two and one-half years, I have very rarely lit this particular candle in order to make it last. The fresh scent of baby powder began to waft up from the pool of wax forming around the wick like a hot moat. I breathed it deep into my lungs and squeezed my eyes shut. There is not much of this candle left, and I hate to burn it, as Yankee no longer manufactures this wonderful scent. However, a baby powder-scented candle suddenly seems ridiculous in this lanky, ruddy-cheeked boy's room.

I will burn it tonight until it's gone.