Anderson, as of tonight, has officially left the crib. I've known this day would eventually arrive - the kid is almost 3. (I KNOW, WHAT?!) A few days ago, because I'm real dumb, I forgot to raise the crib rail after putting him down for a nap. So obviously, he woke up and was like "huh, lookie here, I can climb right outta this thing and so I'm gonna!" Which gave him big ideas. Namely, to do that All. The. Time. So tonight, when J got home, we undertook Operation: Convert Crib Into Bed. And it was all kind of cute and fun in a bittersweet "oh, Bug, how big are you getting?!?" kind of way. The boys worked the drill, I put the closet door on lockdown and removed anything that posed any teeny tiny remote threat of harming a wandering toddler boy (the lamp, a chest prone to pinching little fingers, shirts in the drawers with buttons he might pull out and eat and choke to death on. Or something.) And I took fifty four pictures. (Duh?)
And I was feeling pretty okay about this. Except then, I posted on Facebook about it, and the first couple responses alluded to this particular operation not working out so well in their respective households. And then I started thinking back to all those posts I'd seen on the mommy message boards that went something like "OMG I'M IN TODDLER BED HELL!" that I always skipped over because what did I care about toddler beds, anyway? Except now, I care, because it's my beauty sleep and sanity in question. And I'm panicking. I don't want him to wake up at 5:30am! I don't want to revert to newborn style every hour wake-ups! I don't want to go upstairs eleventy billion times to put him back in his bed at bedtime! I don't want him to fall out and break his face!
Oh, and also, it was a little sad. When bedtime came, I snuggled with him in his big boy bed, and we took a picture together. And I tried not to think about how today, when I put him in his crib for a nap, it was the last time I'd ever ever tuck my firstborn baby into a crib. I tried realllllly hard not to think about that. (SOB.)
And then I tucked him in.
Then I kissed him goodnight and walked out to the hallway. Where J and I stood with our ears pressed to his door for awhile, listening. Proud, fearful, hopeful, rock-paper-scissoring over who was going to take the night shift. And now, an hour later, he's still awake. He's opened the door a few times and called out, but the trusty gate (that's been on his door since we moved in) is keeping him in his room at least. I just heard him say something that sounded a whole lot like "poopies". I'll take any positive toddler bed transition tales you've got, my friends. I'll take the not-so-positive ones as well, as long as they end with some advice about what DID work and don't end like "then we never ever slept again". Deal? Deal.