"As soon as the child could live without the constant solicitude of his mother, his nanny or his cradle- rocker, he belonged to adult society." -Phillippe Aries, (20th C. French Historian)
Last night, refusing to accept the fact that soothing music and the appearance of a giant, bug-eyed moon projected on his ceiling indicates bedtime, baby Bigfoot flips out in, and over the side of his crib. It's now 10 p.m.the next day, the crib is in pieces waiting to be delivered to the attic, and baby brother is finally asleep in his new (old) toddler bed, a hand-me-down from the princess.
Earlier today, when I first set up the bed, I give him time to get used to it by bringing him into his room for some independent play. Intrigued by the appearance of the bed and matching Winnie the Pooh sheet set, baby brother hands me his shoes, ready to explore his new-and- improved room. As soon as his sneakers are tied, he pushes off my lap and starts checking out the bed, looking back at me only to wave and shout, "Bye." That's my cue to leave him alone. I go downstairs and turn on the baby monitor; it has a TV screen. Wasting no time at all, he climbs on top of the bed and stands, arms raised like the king of the world.
This is the way I find him again this evening after returning home from an errand. My husband claims baby Bigfoot has no idea what to do without his crib. "He's just standing on his toddler bed, starring into space. I know he's tired by now."
It will take a few nights for him to adjust to the new sleeping situation, after all, he's not even two years old. Now, the fake moon is shining on the ceiling, the soothing music is playing and he's fast asleep, hugging his bear. I'm standing in his doorway watching him, and I can't believe he's a big boy now. That was too fast. Even though I know I haven't missed any part of my children's lives, I still feel a bit like Rip Van Winkle. I better get some rest; at this rate he'll be shaving and packing for college in the morning.
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