It lived in our kitchen. Snuggled between the fruit and the bread.
In the beginning, I thought it would be on the next shuttle to Dumpsterville. But it took up residence instead.
Several times a day, it occupied center stage. Letting us draw deeply from its bounty.
I loved it. I hated it. My independence. My failure. All twisted together in my head.
It made me worry, often, if my child was being short changed.
It made me do a little dance, when I realized I could fit into clothes from which I had sadly become estranged.
It was nourishment and comfort. The start and finish of each day.
It represented my son's babyhood.
And I could have done it a month ago... but today I threw it away.