Car seats: Saying a final goodbye

 

Today, as part of the usual, barely controlled (who am I kidding? Completely uncontrolled) chaos of weekend shopping, we had an extra errand to run. We needed a bigger car seat.

 

Our Little Miss has until recently, been fitting just fine in the padded bucket looking thing that comes with every over-priced travel system.

 

Now that she's hit the right weight and height markers that she can move the thing around even when she and it are strapped to the car, it's become time to get something a bit less... well, terrifying.

 

Safety first and all that.

 

So one visit to Smyth's later (bypassing the Lego aisle, to the consternation of all) and the car is newly bedecked with a safety-certified, convertible, adjustable, five-point-harness, racing-standard, reversible, washable child-seat. Another one.

 

"That's that," Mrs. M said once I'd wrestled it into the car. "We can get rid of that thing now." She nodded at the travel system bucket seat and it's myriad stains, some of which I still can't explain.

 

These days when we pack up the clothes that no longer fit, or the toys that are no longer played with, they're no longer carefully packed and labeled and stored in the attic for the next one, they get sent off to a worthy charity.

 

The stuff that's just worn out and/or is unsuitable for reuse by strangers doesn't get replaced. We've bought our last 'My First Christmas' anything.

 

The bucket was different, though – it had survived three kids of use and abuse. It's had mildew scrubbed out of it after two years in a damp shed and that was probably one of the less unpleasant things to happen to its upholstery. A spin round the washing machine and a hoover to the crevices and that thing is as good as the day we took it home.

 

It's hard to give up on something with so many stories behind it. That bucket has made the First Trip Home three times. It's been on road trips, school runs, trips to the shops. It's been bed for a few hours because its occupant fell asleep on the way into the estate, and if we move them now they'll never get back to sleep.

 

It has seen more milk, juice, Cheerios and Nutella than the average hotel's buffet breakfast. It's a cliché, but they become those for a reason – if that thing could talk I dare not imagine the stories it could repeat.

 

It is, probably mercifully, too big to keep as a souvenir. We'll give it a well-needed wash, and a vacuum and when we're ready to give up the rest of the travel system, the whole thing will go to some charity or other to raise a little cash for someone who needs it, and to find a new home.

 

It's earned its role in someone else's stories.

 

John Madden is a freelance designer, writer and dad from Dublin. You can find him on Twitter as @johnmadden78.