We'll Keep It

Once in college, I shelled out twenty-five dollars for a faded loveseat that harkened back to the 70s.  It was my first furniture purchase (and so far, my only furniture purchase-everything we now own was either a gift from family, or found sitting on the side of the road begging to be plastered with beer labels).   Though it was a bit small, I found that it was perfect for all the reading I did to get that English concentration, and, if I tucked up my legs enough, would sleep quite comfortably.

But it was kind of ugly.  So I tried covering it- first with a fitted sheet that forever had to be readjusted, and then by putting my high school set-building skills to work and attaching fabric to it with a staple gun.  Eventually, I made a slip cover, once the staples starting pulling out and stabbing my arm every time I attempted to use the arm rest.  So the little couch moved from dorm room to dorm room, and once I married, fit quite nicely into our oddly narrow living room.  It's now been lugged from state to state with all of our moving, even though we've acquired a real, unfaded couch.

Last summer, I overhead my parents discussing this little couch as it was loaded into our moving pods.  "How many more moves before they ditch that thing?" my father asked my mother. Well, Pops, that little couch isn't going anywhere soon.  I have visions of passing it on to my son when he moves out of the house.  It would be quite poetic.  After all, it's the very place I sat all those hours, weeks, months (!) after he was born- nursing, napping, eating, pumping.  The only seat in house I could find that was both comfortable to sit, and possible to leave.  And since my kid took for.ever. to nurse, and wanted to nurse every two hours, and wouldn't sleep unless someone was holding him, I spent a lot of time on that little loveseat.  Enough time, in fact, to catch up on the past seasons of House, CSI, and Friday Night Lights. 

Besides all that, it's still the most comfortable seat in the house, and should I have pleasure of nursing another child, I can't imagine anywhere else I'd sit.  Unless, of course, someone feels like buying me one of these: