January 5, 2012
I had just returned to the kitchen after rummaging around in the spare room for some crafting supplies, when I heard this crash/thud from down the hall. My first thought was something had fallen in the spare room after my scavengering. But as I made my way down the hall, I stopped at Liam’s door, who had just been put down for a nap, wondering if maybe the noise had come from his room, as it had sounded closer than the back bedroom at the end of the hall. So I peaked in his room. To my surprise, I found him on the floor by his crib. The kid had scaled the railing of his crib and fell to the floor below in a heap. A wave of shock washed over me and I just stood there looking at him as he got up and, with his proud little face, walked right past me stating that he had gotten out of his crib.
To this point, he has not tried to climb out of his crib. Pack-n-play, yes. Crib, no. I’m thankful that, as far as I know, his only battle wound is a scratch on his face. Time will only tell. The only tears shed, were the ones accompanied by the realization that punishment was to follow.
I was hoping that we had a little more time before we needed to make the move to a big boy bed. Mostly because I’m not looking forward to the training that will go along with it (i.e. getting up multiple times after being put down, playing with toys instead of in bed, or waking up to little eyeballs staring back at me before I’m ready to get my lazy butt out of bed).
I knew this day would come, but I’m not ready for my baby to be old enough for a real bed. I still want to be greeted by his blue eyes and smiling face peering over the railing as I come in to get him in the morning. Instead, it will be my sleepy eyes trying to adjust to the enthusiasm of a little boy who is so proud of the fact that our roles have now reversed.