Ready or not, kids grow up.
Before our very eyes they reach milestones: using the potty, dressing themselves (or undressing themselves at inopportune times), using a tissue instead of their finger, graduating to a big-kid bed.
Our youngest is 2-years-old. She’s a willful child but I was determined to keep her a baby as long as possible.
Because of her willfulness, I was certain that by moving her into a big-girl bed, the little Socialite would end up on the couch watching CSI: and having a night-cap with me.
We’ve been fortunate - or lucky - as all three of our kids are good sleepers. Very seldom have we had bedtime woes (sick days/nights excluded).
Having been jumped in, climbed upon, once relocated, rearranged and kicked (the relentless “I’m not tired!” or “I’m awake!” thumping on the crib slats) for eight years, our crib, though, finally gave in.
Horror spread through my veins when I went to lift the drop-side of the crib and a “safety slat” snapped off in my hand.
“Oh-no now where will she sleep?”
A sharp, wood edge protruded from the crib side; repairing the broken slat was not an option. Even Duck Tape was out of the equation.
My only remaining solution: move her into a big-girl bed.
Reluctantly, I began removing the drop-side from the convertible crib with a screwdriver.
Preoccupied by using a tool and wondering where I put the Elmo safety-sides, I failed to notice my daughter had managed to cram her head and shoulders through the new wide space in the crib slats. And she was stuck (last week her leg, this week her head).
I wiggled her free with minimal screaming and no blood, but I knew there was no turning back; a big girl bed she would have.
I braced myself that first night; ready to Super-Nanny her back to her converted toddler bed every five minutes.
But, she did surprisingly well. She didn’t come out of her room until the next morning.
Not that it has been smooth sailing ever since, she’s attempted to sneak out of her room a couple of times, but I think she has been ready for this milestone for a while.
It’s me who wasn’t ready. Nor am I ready to tackle potty training or to revoke her pacifier privilege yet.
One thing at a time and right now she’s still my baby.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.Tweet