EB, my eldest child, has grown up. Yes, she’s only 3.5, but I’ll be damned if this recent milestone didn’t choke me up more than any of the other ones. I was in awe of the rolling over, crawling, and cruising, I squealed when she walked, and I even laughed with we lowered the crib. I might’ve cried when she got teeth, but that was for other reasons (read: chomping).
My big girl is in a big girl bed. *TEAR, SNIFF* This is all part of the great re-organization of the girls’ room. She has now graduated from the toddler bed…mostly because Hubs can’t tolerate falling asleep in it to put her down first, then once she’s asleep, I bring in the milk-drunk baby. You see, that’s the only way we get any non-child time at night, which is imperative. Also, if Ans goes down first via rocking chair (the most effective tactic) and Eebs goes to sleep in our bed, it means she’s up until 11 pm and is the true definition of a crazy person both at night and in the morning. But who can blame Hubs for not fitting in that tiny bed? And I certainly can’t fault him for how he puts down EB – reading then snoozing alongside her. All I care about is that I have Ans and Eebs isn’t running amuck, coming in the bedroom every 5 minutes to say goodnight.
Last night she even wanted to go back in her own bed after Ans woke her up by crycrycrying because I assumed she was asleep after feeding her from 1 to 2 am. But, oh no, she wanted to keep going until 2:30. Sweet Cheesus (™ Broken Condoms - blog friend supreme). Rough night, for sure, but I’m hoping all will be amended when we hit up a tree farm for a work project then the splash pad this afternoon…as long as I can find the other piece to EB’s swim suit. Otherwise we’ll be slightly rednecky when she goes through those fountains in a wife beater. The hope is that both kids will be tuckered out from the hypnosis that is water play, and I’m banking on a good night’s sleep.
Yeah, right; I should know better by now.
At least when she goes to sleep tonight, in her adult-accomodating twin bed, I’ll shed that other tear that her legs keep growing, her speech keeps evolving, and her jokes just keep getting better and better. She’s still not old enough to want to wear clothes all the time, snuggles with me and pets my hair, and still generally wants me around (except when I take away the chapstick from over-application under the covers on my side of the bed. I can’t even). She might not be a baby anymore, but she’s still my BEBE.