101 Lives of a Sofa

sofa

Some like the brown leather ones.

Or the oddly shaped like flying saucers ones, designed in high fashion labs.   Not a stitch out of place and watch out if you come near with a bar of chocolate or a glass of red wine.

Others go for the white ones that twist and turn like the Milky (Motor) Way in their living rooms.

We all search for the right one.

Some like piles of cushions scattered everywhere, with no greater plan or reason.

Others like well–matched rows of embroidered squares and circles.

And some like cosiness, comfort and low-maintenance, and the odd crumb.  So do I.

Every sofa tells a story and here is ours.

First there is the smell of spilled morning coffee and rushed routine.  A stash of cornflakes hidden by Peanut, just in case.

The sleepy hollow in the left corner from the time when I carried my boy under my heart and needed those frequent naps or just liked to lie down with my eyes closed and listen to the birds chirping and cars rushing while stroking the Bump.

A few marks where Peanut chose to wipe his nose.  Sorry about that. I know I should take better care of you but a part of me thinks that your shabby looks make you more special.

Some days Teddy 1 and Teddy 2 invade all the sofa space.

P1010074

All these crumbs and cornflakes, chocolate stains (proof of my late night writing) and hollow spots tell stories about our family.

Stories of fun games and pillow fights.  Laughing out loud.  Building dens.  Cosy evenings after long days; our feet up, plates on our laps and lazy chats.

Of Peanut squeezing through with a book, or two.  Our goodnight reads and singing along to In the Night Garden songs.

Of holding hands when life on the small screen gets too scary.  Of resting my head on BlueBeretDad’s shoulder and falling asleep when the football is on.

Of us mastering the baby babble, making plans for our future and listening to someone playing bagpipes in their garden.

Our sofa is not just another piece of furniture.

It is not about purpose and function and order.

It is more of a friend, though frayed around the edges.

It is a hiding spot for our memories.

Disclosure: This is a sponsored post and I have received monetary compensation for writing it.   All words, images and sofa memories are mine.

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