Just when I felt that I had a firm handle on my life and on the kids' schedule, just when I thought everything was under control, it Happened.
The Hubster made a Decision. He decided that S was getting too big for his crib and therefore should be transitioned into a big boy bed. Starting Now.
Initially, he tried to convince me that we needed to go out Right There and Then and buy a twin bed that matches the older boys' bunk bed set (we got the bunk beds at BJ's about two years ago; they don't make a twin bed, just the bunk beds). I told him that that was ridiculous idea since we not only already have a double bed in S's room along with the crib, but we also have a Little Tikes race car toddler bed that's gathering dust in the basement. Either option was fine with me, but there was absolutely no reason to go buying a new bed.
Much to Hubster's credit, he didn't argue his point. Instead, he brought up the spare crib mattress, spring base, and bed frame.
I must say that while I was behind this idea in theory, I was not (and still am not) thrilled with the fact that Hubster either overlooked something very important, or very cleverly thrust it in my lap: the aftermath. Aftermath? What on earth are you talking about, crazy lady? you ask. Well, think about it. Who is home in the afternoons when S will be napping (or learning to nap) in this new bed? And who will be putting S to sleep in this new bed when Hubster is working late? Who's got two thumbs and the toughest job she'll ever love? This gal!
Yep. He pulled a seagull move. Flew in, shit all over the place, and flew away.
Okay, that's a bit extreme and perhaps overly harsh. Yeah, he did kinda crap on me by initiating this major transition that *I* will be managing solo, but let's be real here. S is almost two. He's our third boy, and he is far more adventurous than even T, our Fearless Child. So much so that S makes T look cautious (seriously). It was just a matter of time before S figured out how to scale the crib and forced the situation. And the sooner we transition him to a bed, the sooner that brief period of naptime hell is over.
I suppose the true reason why I resist this latest transition is that it signifies the End of the Babyhood. Of course I'm excited that my little boy is getting bigger (well, that all of my little boys are getting bigger), but there's still that small part of me that's sad that our crib's days are numbered. The past six and a half years of my life, somebody has been my baby (well, my under-two-year-old). It was exciting, exhausting, challenging, and worth every minute of it, but now it's time to look forward to the next phase of parenting.