The crib was quite a nice one – mostly wood and a classic design, painted light green. Neutral if one is not decorating aggressively in pink or blue, in expectation of a boy or girl. I went for cheery yellow in baby nursery décor and linens, in 1979 when I was expecting my daughter, when expectant parents generally had no notion at all until the moment of delivery. I was a very junior enlisted troop at that time, living in the barracks thousands of miles from family with no expectation of any support, emotional or otherwise from the man who I sadly had to consider an ex-whatever.

Anyway, the crib that I sold last week was surplus to needs, even though it was one of those ones which could be – with the purchase of additional bits and bobs available on Amazon – transformed into a youth bed, a small nursery love seat, or the headboard to a full-sized twin bed. Wee Jamie, the Wonder Grandson had long since outgrown it as a crib and my daughter had no need of it in her house in any of those permutations … so early in May I put it on Next Door, for sale at $50;  I hoped to get something back that I could spend on plants for the garden, as well as clear out more space in the house and latterly, the garage.

But it didn’t sell at that price point although there were two inquiries from parties I suspect were scammers – assumptions based on the wildly out-of-local area codes on their given phone numbers and then a song-and-a-dance over a proposed Zelle payment … I mean, really – you need to send me $500 because paying from a business account, according to a suspect email message supposedly from Zelle demanding a follow up on this urgent matter? An email with a non-functioning customer service number with an area code for Austin but a mailing address in Phoenix, Arizona? Look, Sunshine, I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night…

So, the crib didn’t sell and I acquiesced to marking it down to $30 and basically forgot about it until a query from a third party. Was it still available, and would I take $20? Yeah, but split the difference at $25. Reply from the prospective buyer: Sure. Running errands in the neighborhood Friday afternoon – would that time be OK for pickup?

Me (inclined by then to just take the thing to Goodwill but for the trouble of getting it there): Show up with money, this is the address, and the doorbell on the gate is shaped like an owl. I’d be home all afternoon. The item is in parts in my garage, so ready to go.

About all the effort I made for this was to be home Friday afternoon.  I was genuinely surprised when the gate doorbell rang inside the house shortly after noon, which sent the dog into spasms of barking – which I could hear from where I was renewing the paint on the back porch. Ah, the buyer for the crib. I was mildly surprised to have one actually appear. From the nym on Next Door I had kind of expected a male – but this was a very thin, very young woman in jeans and a polo shirt with the emblem of a local animal rescue organization on it.  She had a large dog in the back seat of her car; a small sedan approximately the size of my own. There was one of those dog-proof seat covers on the back seat; obviously her dog rode there often.

I opened the garage door, she opened up the trunk of her car, and we began playing automobile Tetris, loading in pieces of the crib. She asked me if I had change for a twenty, which I didn’t – but I did have Zelle, so that’s how payment went. The headboard was too large for the trunk, so she moved the dog to the front seat, and we slid the headboard into the space just behind the front seats. I had taken care to zip-tie a baggie with the various metal fasteners which hold the crib parts together to one of the side elements: I explained which machine bolts and nuts held the assembled crib together, and which were for fastening the mattress support. The buyer nodded and assured me that she would be sure to tell her friend who would be getting the crib as a present at her baby shower in a day or so – which fasteners went were.

That was the last piece of the crib. She sent me the $25 asked for it; done and dusted. She closed up her car, reassured the dog and drove away, leaving me to remember.

A present of a second-hand crib at a baby shower.

Been there, been the recipient of that sort of gift and darned welcome it was too back then. My best friend in the barracks in Japan, 1979 who organized a baby shower for me also bought a second-hand crib for the baby daughter who would eventually sleep in it. A highchair, too – as well as serving as coach for Lamaze classes and going into labor and delivery with me when the time came.

The thing that I was reminded about again, when I sold the crib – is that for a baby, second-hand doesn’t matter. A secure, safe place to sleep matters. Friendship and care matters from a friend to new parents. Love matters. Babies matter over all – and love, security and shelter are more important to them than practically any materiel second-hand and well-used bit of nursery furniture, cuddly soft blankets or cute onsies. That such things are supplied used and at second-hand … doesn’t matter at all.