It's not you, it's me.

It has been six lovely years with you. We met in Mammoth, California on AB’s and my first anniversary. You have been there for me, catching all my needs, keeping my necessary baggage private and safe. But I have grown, and you have not.

Those stains on the outside are telling. They used to be the occasional sloshed cocktail. But more recently you are spotted with applesauce thanks to your unfortunate placement during a minor table mishap. I still love you despite your spots.

You have held up like I never thought you would over the years. Still maintaining your shape (let’s focus on you… we can address me later). Not a stitch or seam broken or out of place. Given everything I have put you through, I am amazed. You have amazing resilience.

Still you look sad to me, a little worn. You see my frustrated face as I continue to ask more and more of you with every passing year. Just tonight, sticky toddler hands were rummaging around your interior in search of snacks. I saw you looking as I browsed your replacement on the internet. The new models! The options! The excitement! Yes, I know… the money. The money I don’t have right now.

But can you handle it? Can you handle the increased demands on you when this baby is born? You picked up your load a few years ago when I asked you to transition from not only just carrying my wallet, keys and sunglasses, but adding in there snacks, wipes, Kleenex, and occasionally moist sippy cups. How will you handle another child?

Retirement can be nice I hear. You have my word that you will never see the inside of a Goodwill truck or a garbage can. I promise. I am just asking for your blessing.

Don’t worry. It will take time. AB doesn’t come around very quickly with purchases like this. Although if one of those two patents comes through and yields an OPA… it could happen quickly, and I want you to be prepared. In the meantime… which of your offspring can carry my load?

This beauty? Or maybe this one... Am I aiming too high if I lean this way?
Remember, I love you my Coach purse. And it’s not you, it’s me.