Worse than taking down the tree

 

I finally did it.  I took apart the cradle. 

One moment you’re smoothing a piece of buttery yellow flannel around a mini-mattress and daydreaming about swaddled bundles of baby-ness; the next moment a whole year has gone by and your nine-month-old is crawling, standing, giggling, babbling, and scooching all over the house, far too large and far too wiggly to be contained by a cradle. 

I’m almost afraid to go to sleep at night—what if I wake up tomorrow and she’s already off at college?