From Babies to Big Boy Beds

There are certain moments in a parent’s life when they realize they don’t have babies in their homes anymore. For example, when I stopped breastfeeding, or the day I packed away the bottles for the last time, or signed my youngest up for school in the fall – I had that heart stopping, panicked realization that my babies were grown. In those moments I moan “they were right” – these years do go by too fast. And I convince myself that maybe I never appreciated their pudgy, crawling, dimpled, mouthing, cooing, drooling, cuteness enough when I had the chance.

We had another one of those moments on Monday. My three year old has finally graduated from his crib to a big boy bed.

There goes that breaking news alert scrolling across the bottom of my heart: You don’t have babies any more. You don’t have babies anymore. You don’t have babies anymore.

But it was time. It was beyond time. I have always stood by the idea that you keep your toddler in his crib until you absolutely MUST move them. Call it baby jail and I am the mommy warden but keeping my child from wandering at bedtime simply meant an extra serving of sanity for me. Thanks. I’ll take that. With a twist of lemon.

And since he never climbed, he stayed put.

Well, he never climbed until last week when I found him (after a particularly long nap time battle) perched large and squawking, like a toddler sized bird, on the railing of his crib. He was holding on for dear life and, as I lunged for him, I won’t forget the crazed look of both beaming pride and sheer panic on his face.

So that was it. No matter how much I knew his fading nap time would be put at risk with an escapable big boy bed, the crib had to go. And as we dismantled it, we saw where the joints had weakened, where 40 lbs of jumping child had just about brought that crib to its knees.

But as we dismantled it, as we unscrewed bolts, pulled out the baby mattress, untied the bumper and folded up the crib skirt, I could not believe that we had come to a time where this crib would not be needed in our household any longer. I remember, as very green soon to be parents, when we pulled it out of it’s box for the first time and pieced it together. I remember my husband grumbling about the uselessness of an Alan wrench while I sat by his side, pregnant and ready to bust. And this past Monday, my husband gave the same speech about the Alan wrenches while I slid each crib piece out into the hallway. It’s the end of an era.

Next came piecing together the big boy bed – which is the top bunk version of my six year old’s bed. We unwrapped the brand new mattress (which just seemed FAR too big for my youngest). I pulled the load of  twin bed sheets out of the dryer and stared at them. They were good for a little boy’s bed: basic blue stripes. Certainly not the cutely patterned baby sheets of the past.

Once we were done (and had resigned ourselves to all that comes with having a big boy bed), we let our three year old have at it. He climbed up with glee, he whooped and hollered. He celebrated with some good old fashioned jumping while my 6 year old joined him across the room on his bed. Then he insisted that we tuck him in, the blankets right on up to his chin, with all of his favorite animals surrounding him. And he just lay there – smiling and satisfied. He knew he had arrived. He knew what a big moment this was for him.

And so bedtimes and nap times have been happening with success. He is sleeping well enough and enjoying the great expanse of a twin bed. Being a big boy, in a big bed, having just turned three, on the verge of potty training and starting school in the fall is still such a novelty for all of us. But like the novelty of this bed, we will grow accustomed to it all and move forward into the adventures that await us as a family of bright and engaged little boys – rather than a just a young family of babies. Onward.