It’s past time to rearrange Sophie’s room, mix things up a bit.  I’ve got a conundrum. Do I get rid of the changing table?

I love Sophie’s changing table. It isn’t really a changing table, it’s a wooden chest with a changing pad screwed on, one of those clever ideas you get out of a magazine that work maybe 5 percent of the time. This idea worked well for both Annabelle and Sophie. I particularly love Sophie’s turquoise blue chest with its lavendar pad that (by accident) perfectly matches the walls in her tiny room. (Tiny is why I really do need to consider the move.)

When Annabelle was three, and potty trained, I took the pad off the chest, moved the chest to the dining room, and stored my wedding dishes in it. It’s got a TV on top of it now, instead of a bare-butted baby. It looks great.

When Sophie was three, I unwrapped a new terry cloth cover for her changing pad; she’d worn out the old one.

Maybe it’s because I’ve had Sophie’s literally twice as long that I can’t bear the thought of moving it out. Silly, I know I shouldn’t get emotional over a changing table. It’s not like we use it all that much anymore. Sophie’s been potty trained for more than a year. I do put her on it most every night, to help her get PJs on and put on a nghttime diaper. She usually sits on it when I’m combing her hair after a bath.

We’ve ditched the diapers (during the day) and the crib and the high chair and the potty chair. Sophie can sit at the dining room table without a booster seat. And though it will be a while til the car seat has to go (I should really replace that, too, according to safety standards), that’s about it. That makes me sad. I have to admit that maybe I’ve gotten a little attached to the trappings of babydom.

No reason to keep it in her too-small room, I think. Then I recall one of our favorite bathtime rituals. I grab Sophie out of the tub and wrap her in a towel without letting her feet touch the ground, then whisk her to the changing table, where I dry her off and — before doing anything else, like picking the pajama top, bottom and diaper (she has to be presented with choices in each category) I kiss her feet.

That’s right. I take each one in my hand, very slowly lift it to my face, watching the espression on hers, and kiss the instep of each clean, pruney foot.

“Kiss my feet! Kiss my feet!” Sophie yells.

And we both crack up. The changing table is the perfect height for this tete a tete, and the place where it’s happened dozens of times.

So yeah, I think we’ll keep the changing table around for a while longer.