Sam is in a toddler bed.
I know, I know. All you readers are shaking your heads, thinking, "It's about time. Who keeps their 3 year old in a crib this long? Who keeps their 3 year old, who is the size of a 4 year old, in a crib this long?"
Well, we do...did. We'd been debating about putting him in a big-boy bed, but neither of us were eager to reliniquish the crib. There's just a certain luxury of dropping your child into a crib and knowing he is confined there until morning.We have an old-school drop rail crib and one night, the side just fell right off, so there you have it. The decision was made for us.
He's been doing well, only fallen out once.
But his parents are having a hard time adjusting to Sam's newly found freedom. It's quite a jolt to be cleaning the kitchen and catch a glimpse of a quiet (too quiet) 3 year old, sitting on the couch, hands folded under his chin, smiling creepily at you. Aaugh! How long has he been there?!? Where did he get that creepy smile? (I need to stop watching scary movies about possessed children).
My heart just can't take it. Sam, though, is just proud of himself: "Mom, I sneaked you!"
In other news, Andie is back to her bad-sleepin' ways. And now, I'm worried that her midnight cries (or exasperated, slightly put-out yells of "Mom! Mom!") represent something ominous, like a recurrent seizure.
Joe attempted to ease my mind the other night. "Don't worry, honey. If she's crying, you know she's not having a seizure. Right?"
Great. So, now I have to worry when she's quiet, too.
I may never sleep again. Sigh.