The Swing in the Tree: Why I’m Not Ready to Take It Down (Even If I Should Be)

We have this swing.

It’s one of those classic Little Tikes toddler swings—the pink one with the blue straps that hangs from a tree branch. We’ve had it since my daughter was about 15 months old.

It’s faded now. A little dirty. The straps twist if you don’t hold them just right.

But it’s held so many moments.
So many memories.
So many seasons.

She’s swung in it barefoot in summer, bundled in snow gear in winter, giggling through spring breezes, and yawning through fall sunsets. That swing has rocked her through toddlerhood.

Last year, we got a big backyard swing set for her third birthday—because we were expecting baby number two and knew we’d be spending more time at home.

Now, both kids play on the new swing set. The baby has a swing. She has a “big kid” swing. It’s everything we wanted.

And yet… the pink swing still hangs in the front yard tree.

🧠 What Was Really Going On (Under the Surface)

The other day, my husband did something he thought would make me happy. Thoughtful. Sweet, even.

He went out and bought the exact same swing—but in blue. The classic blue and red version everyone knows. He said we could swap it in for our son.

But instead of feeling loved, I got… upset.

Not teary, not sentimental.
Just… snarky.

I made passive comments like, “He already has a swing out back,” or “We don’t need this,” or “Why did you waste money on that?”

Truthfully? I didn’t handle it well.

And he knew.
He could feel the shift in my mood immediately.
He didn’t push—but the blue swing is still in the garage. And the pink one? Still swinging in the breeze.

Because deep down, I’m not ready to let it go.

✨ It’s not about the swing.
It’s about the version of her that used to need it.
The one I pushed gently back and forth when she was barely learning to talk.
The one who squealed “higher Mommy, higher!” with her curls bouncing and her feet kicking in little shoes that barely fit in the leg holes.

🚫 Replacing it felt like erasing her.
Like closing the door on a chapter I still want to visit sometimes.

📦 The Emotional Load Behind the Snark

I didn’t explain any of this to my husband at the time.
I didn’t cry or say, “This makes me sad.”

I snapped. I judged. I deflected with sarcasm.

Not because I’m mean. But because I didn’t have the words yet.

This is the messy middle of motherhood:
You’re watching them grow, right in front of you, and it’s everything you hoped for.
And yet… your heart aches for the version of them you just had to let go of.

It’s grief.
Grief in miniature.
For a moment, a phase, a swing.

✅ What I’ll Try Next Time (Realistic Mom Goals)

I’m not ready to take the swing down. Not today.
And that’s okay.

Here’s what I am going to try:

● Pause before reacting—especially when I feel emotional and don’t know why yet
● Name the feeling, even if it’s messy: “I’m not ready to let this part go”
● Let my partner in, instead of shutting him out
● Remind myself that every version of her still lives in my memories—and I don’t have to hold onto the objects to hold onto the moments

💬 Final Thought: Some Things Stay Up Until We’re Ready

That swing? It’s more than plastic and rope.
It’s a snapshot of toddlerhood. Of a season I loved and grieved and lived deeply.

One day, we’ll take it down.
Maybe my husband and I will do it together.
Maybe I’ll cry. Maybe I won’t.

But for now, it gets to stay.

Because sometimes, we’re not ready to let go of the swing—
Not because we’re stuck in the past,
But because we’re honoring the beauty of what once was.

And maybe… because we’re still learning how to let go gently.