The Milky Couch
November 1, 2009
by Sandi Sanford
We’re getting new furniture, but I’m a little sad about it. For as long as we’ve been married we’ve had two sofas in the living room, unmatched but comfortable. One is like a member of the family. We call it “the milky couch,” because it’s white, originally at least, and our sons curled up on it each morning to drink their sippy cups of milk. The couch is worn, showing signs of age, and wilting under the weight of many memories. I bought it when I moved to Raleigh in 1998. I was single with no kids, and wanted an all-white living room (something I can’t even imagine now!) It was clean, brilliant and perfect in my little home.
On that couch I prayed for many things and received an answer each time. I dreamt of possibilities and the future I hoped to have. When we had 22 inches of snow in the year 2000 I parked myself on that couch for a week, read John Grishom books, and survived on my Y2K emergency stash of canned soup and diet soda. Flash forward a couple of years, I met my husband to be and we watched movies, ate dinner, and talked until midnight on that couch.
When our oldest son, Sam, was born I spent hours nestled in the familiar cushions, feeding him, holding him, and watching mindless sitcoms. I didn’t lose the baby weight as fast as I wanted—I blame the couch!
By the time Elijah came along 2 years later I was feeling sorry for our delightful, but worn milky couch. Its fabric was stained, but artfully covered with a throw and a pillow. It was like a well-loved stuffed animal, missing some of its original glamour, but more charming without it. Sam would climb up there every morning, snuggling into the cushions. Now 2 and 4, Elijah and Sam take turns in the favorite spot, the side with the one remaining pillow and the best view of the TV.
If you told me when I bought the pristine white couch that I would have it this long and see it change from bright white, clean perfection to frumpy, dingy, and sagging I would have been a little dismayed. “You mean I won’t get new furniture until then?” I would have cried. But I wouldn’t undo all the memories and all the wear of it now. Even as I watch it go a part of me will wish it could stay.
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