A Tale of Two Couches

So when I was single I bought this couch, a couch perfect for a single girl. And I loved it. It was beautiful, stylish, and best of all, comfy.

Did I mention that it is a solid color, khaki denim couch?

Or was a solid color, khaki denim couch.

I kept that couch immaculate, all while enjoying it, for two years. It didn't have a spot or stain on it, not one.

Enter The Husband, who a few years ago was just a serious boyfriend. Enter his love of eating meals while sitting on the couch, and eating chocolate ice cream while watching tv. He was careful for a while, but then he too, like the couch, got comfy.

Keeping that couch clean was a lost cause. After we were engaged, we built a new house together. It had a dog door, which is a great invention. The downside of a dog door, though, is what is also the upside of the dog door - that the dog can come and go as he pleases. Good 90% of the time. The rest of the time, not so good. Like when the dog finds some mud, or digs in the dirt, or there's an unexpected rain shower while me and The Husband are at work. So the couch gets a little dirty. One day while I was on a girls' trip, The Husband is sitting on the couch with his laptop doing a bit of work. He sits on a pen, one of those gel pens. The pressure of his little tushy pressing down on the tip of that pen was too much, and all the ink emptied out onto my beloved couch.

Did I also mention that this stylish, solid color khaki couch was dry clean only?

I know, I know, what was I thinking?

I was a very neat, very single girl when I bought it, remember?

Then enter our first baby. He had acid reflux. BAD. I'm talking projectile spit up, out of nowhere, no warning. Poor sweet baby. Poor couch.

Do you see where I'm going here?

We kept saying we were just going to buy another couch. But it always seemed like more important things came up. Like furniture for the nursery, a vacation, a home repair. It seemed like something always came up.

The couch is now eight years old, and has lived almost five years with The Husband and the dog door. It isn't as pretty, but it was holding it's own.

Until this week.

Little Man, who is almost three, was sitting on the couch with his chocky (chocolate) milk in a sippy cup, watching Noggin while his mom and dad were waiting for the coffee to kick in. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the unthinkable happens.

Little Man throws up. Chocolate milk. All. Over. The. Couch.

Gross.

Little Man is fine, it was just a fluke. We clean up the couch the best we can, and actually, you can't even see where the chocky milk throw up was.

You can, however, smell it.

Really gross.

I think the couch has finally met it's match. It's faced The Husband, the dogs, a toddler artist, and countless other things.

But it's no match for the chocky milk stuff. I have to accept it, my couch reeks.

Couch, your days are numbered. We'll have to start saving up for a new one.

Of course, we just paid a deposit on our vacation, and need to pay the balance soon.

Here we go again...