Fred the Feeding Chair and the Bottle Graveyard

This is "Fred". Husband's man-chair. Before we got married, Fred was my husband's only piece of furniture for a really long time. We named it Fred in our single days and referred it to as Husband's roommate. He even slept in it for months before he had a bed. And when we first moved in together, I thought Fred would have a short life in our household, or I guess I hoped he would, because I hate to say it, but Fred's not really what I would call a "looker". But man, is he comfortable and he has since grown on me. So Fred stays. Yes, I'm talking about Fred as if he is a person, because he has become a staple, and a symbol of all that is comfortable in our house. I have a nice rocker in the nursery, but Fred actually became my nursing chair for a while, which was convenient not so much for his comfort (even though that's a big plus), but he's so easy to clean, too, in the midst of various wet accidents. He coddled me through sleepless nights, he was there when I would schlep to the living room with Poops and watch half a movie during the 1 am feeding, and there again at 3 am, where I would watch the rest of it at the next feeding. And all the hours in between. Since I've stopped nursing, it's become our "bottle-feeding" chair. Now, Poops knows that's where the business of eating gets done and as soon as we sit down in it he looks at you and at the side table and back at you, as if to say, "Where the heck's my bottle!" Sometimes between feedings, there's still a bottle left on the side table next to Fred, and if you sit down with Poops, he gets angry that there's a bottle sitting there, and no one is giving it to him. Even if it's empty. So the bottle retires to what we call the "bottle graveyard". On the floor right next to Fred, until we remember to pick it up and take it into the kitchen. It's out of Poops' line of vision, and he forgets about it within seconds. Unfortunately, so do we. And we wind up with this:

The Bottle Graveyard