Cradling a Dream

Have you ever walked through an antique store, picked up an item, and wondered where it was from? If it could talk, what would it tell you? What has it seen? Where has it been? Who did it meet? Someday, I hope someone will want the bassinet as badly as I did.

When I was pregnant with my first child, I was like every new mom: scared, excited, anxious, nervous… There really wasn't a word to describe exactly how I was feeling. I still can't find a suitable word. We set up the baby's room. There was a crib, dresser, clothes, blankets, toys, stickers on the walls of the stars and moon, a brand new linen set with the same décor, and a cradle in the corner ready to be moved into our bedroom for those first few precious months of life.

I would day dream of laying in bed in the wee hours of morning and reaching over to rock the cradle ever so gently to lull my sweet baby back to sleep. I was going to bring the cradle out into the living room with me while I read books or watched movies. It was going to be just like I dreamed when I was little and put my dolly in her little bed. It was going to be perfect.

Six and one-half weeks before his due date, my water broke. I spent the weekend in the hospital waiting for something to happen. I was hooked to monitors, IVs, and medicated from Saturday morning until Monday evening when he was born. He had size to his advantage, but still struggled to breathe. Twenty days after his birth, our son came home with an apnea monitor, danny sling, sleeping wedge to attach the danny sling onto, and reflux medication.

My heart broke when I quickly realized that the special sleeping arrangements wouldn't work in the cradle. That dream went into the garage for storage until we found a new home for it. My husband had to tear down the crib and reassemble it in our room. When we had everything set up, it reminded me so much of a hospital room. Wires, monitors, medicine, special sleeping apparatus's. It was a scary few months. Every time the monitor would beep, our own hearts stopped. On Valentine's Day, the doctors told us we could stop using the monitor. In March, we could do away with the danny sling and sleeping wedge. In April, we stopped the reflux medication. By the Grace of God, our son was healthy.

Almost two years later, I was pregnant again. This time, the only word to describe what controlled my pregnancy was fear. I read everything and anything I could on what to do and what not to do. I was terrified of a repeat of my son's birth. Even though the final outcome was a healthy little boy, I feared the heartache and pain we all went through to get to that point.

I was hesitant to buy anything for the new baby, especially the one thing I wanted the most: a bassinet. The bassinet represented a baby that didn't need wires, monitors, special sleeping arrangements, and medicine. It wasn't our son's fault and I do not love him any less. In fact, he made me a stronger person. It was just a dream that I longed to fulfill.

A few months before the due date, my mother-in-law told me she wanted to get a bassinet for the baby. There was much discussion on the part of my mother-in-law, my mother, my husband, and me. None of us could agree on anything. This one was too soft. That one was too hard. This one might fold up. That one is too big. This one is too small. Sigh. Gary and I decided that we would just pick one up when I found one I liked. We went to a local consignment shop and right there in the front of the store was a bassinet. It was dirty and broken. The green and white Winnie the Pooh pattern was dingy and dusty. The wheel was broken and bent. The bottom storage compartment was torn. Kind of like my dream had been. We bought it.

On the way home, we stopped at a hardware store bought new wheels. Then we got a new mattress. We ripped the whole thing apart to get the fabric off and washed it with disinfectant and a lot of elbow grease. Gary put the new wheels on it. I spent hours hand-sewing the storage compartment back together. What emerged from that dusty heap of fabric and metal was the most beautiful bassinet I had ever seen. It was the perfect size and shape. It rolled effortlessly from room to room. It had a canopy that would lay flat or stay up to shade the baby's face from the light. The storage compartment held extra diapers and clothes. It had our heart and souls put into it. It was perfect.

A few months later, our daughter was born. She was healthy. Her birth went almost exactly as planned. She was nursing like a champ. After spending one day in the hospital for recovery, we brought her home. After the initial meeting of family members and getting settled, I brought her into our room. Even as the tears flowed, I smiled as I laid my baby girl into her bassinet and stepped back. No wires, no monitors, no sleeping contraptions, and no medications. Our son stood on tip-toe and peeked over the edge and into the bassinet at his new sleeping sister. I was overwhelmed with completeness.

She slept in the bassinet until she was about 4 months old and then we transitioned her into her crib. The bassinet stayed in a corner until I found out my cousin was pregnant. I offered her the bassinet for her first born baby. I don't know if she'll ever know how much that small piece of furniture really meant to me. The day it was taken away, and as odd as it sounds, I thanked the bassinet for bringing me closure to my silly dream. Then I shed a few tears as I watched it leave my driveway in the back of a van to bring sweet dreams to a new baby.

Sometimes I wonder what memories are stored inside those old antiques. If that dusty old item was meant to heal a broken heart. I wonder if I'll ever see that bassinet again sometime when I'm old and searching through antique shops. It has a story. It was mine.