Behind Closed Doors

In less than 3 months, we will be needing a crib. 

Hey, I know!  Oliver has a crib! 

Just a couple of months ago, the 2-year-old of a family I work with had been showing off that she could hook her leg over the top of her crib.  The next day, she climbed out and broke her arm. 

"Oliver has started to hook his leg over the top of the crib," my sister informed us after we returned from our trip to L.A.  We have one day, I thought to myself.

We entertained all options as suggested by friends, Facebook, and google.  We knew that whether we decided to keep Ollie in his crib with either a crib topper or some crossed fingers and kept 911 on speed dial, or transitioned him to a big boy bed, we needed to make a decision now.  The addition of an unpredictable, needful infant living full time in this household would not do well to appear at the same time as such a big change.

While we have chosen to allow Oliver to keep his nighttime pacifier habit until after Childe 2.0, we considered the timing of moving Ollie to a big boy bed to be an opportunity to boost his toddler self-esteem.  We went shopping for sheets together, talked about it for two weeks, and tonight, made the big move.

Oliver loved it.  Mommy was in tears.  Apparently we chose a day when my hormones were even more out of control than usual, and I was taken aback by the significance of another milestone.  I'm going to be That Mom who drops her son off at college, and he says, "Seriously, Mom, please stop crying, you're scaring my roommate."  We tucked him in bed and read stories, and I couldn't manage reading a single page of Curious George without beginning to blubber snot and tears all over the place.  Michael gave me an incredulous, amused look and read the last book before turning out the lights.  I blew my nose and mopped up my face, and fixed myself an unhealthy dinner.

I have been camping out downstairs, listening to a strange series of thumpings, thuds, but thankfully no crashes.  The muted sounds of a toddler party stopped about an hour ago, and I'm fighting the temptation to sneak in to see where he ended up.  Curled up in his bed?  In the corner of his closet?  Wedged in a bookshelf?  Will the floor be littered with diapers?  Will there be pizza cheese stuck to the ceiling?

Something tells me Oliver will be getting a lot more sleep than I will tonight.