I think today was the last time I will have made up your crib.
After a late night watching Game of Thrones, we dozed off and forgot to set an alarm to wake you to use the ducky potty that stands guard beside your crib. Trustingly, it is set up for the midnight pee. You wet through your bedding. Not your fault.
As I change your sheets today, I'm struck with the realization that this is most likely, the last time I will make your crib up. We will move you to a single bed tomorrow to prepare our home to be "open house ready" in the coming month or two. De-clutter. You're contemplating climbing out of your crib. Gratefully you look at me, one leg up on the crib rail and ask first "It's too deep; Will I fall?" I tell you that you might and you put your leg down. I sigh. I unceremoniously grab the closest cleen sheets. Yellow. From Tante Louise, and they're perfectly summery soft. Makes my heart happy, as you love your Tante so much. I lay down the cashmere helicopter blanket that you've come to adore from Parker, much too small for you to be covered by. Finally, the bunny quilt. You dread when it's in the wash, as you like it to be pulled up under your chin before you roll over. Made by Auntie B, she hand pieced this quilt and presented it at my baby shower. That osa dear memory to me. She knows me so well and knew exactly what we'd love. It's been washed so many times (thank you, potty training!) and still so sturdy and just gets softer and softer. I place Walnut. She was actually a gift from my sweet, crunchy friend, Frankie. I perfect brown bunny. You adopted her as your own. Will you know that the generousity of five different people provided you with the comfy, cozy bedtime routines you have come to trust? Our village, again. Loving us through the wake ups, early mornings, and graciously deep sleeps.
You're three and a quarter. All your toddler friends are in toddler beds. Race cars, fire trucks, captain beds. You'll be in my great-great grandmother's antique Jenny Lind bed. It's got a good mattress, and was slept in by six generations.
It'll be easier to not need to lift you over the crib rails when you doze off in the rocking chair. It'll be easier to get you out for midnight pees, as you're dead weight like a limp noodle. It'll be easier to change your sheets, not fighting against crib rails. We will enter a new phase of keeping you in bed, in your room. Not easier.
Why is this so strange? As you are most likely our one and only...I'm trying to imprint this transition to my brain. We breezed past so many. Your last breastfeed, your last bottle... this is one of the last "baby things." I write this blog with a view of your room as it is.
I'm not looking back. At least, I don't think I am. I'm just acknowledging that these transitions are heavy. Am I ready to not have a "baby baby" any more? We give this crib back to my super generous boss who loaned it to us and that's it. That's making the decision that we are done. This is heavier than I thought. How many bedrooms does our next home need? Three. One for him, one for us, one for guests.
And maybe we will need to change all the bedding again tomorrow.... parenting. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Jackie Anger is a London, Ontario doula, a mama to an amazing pre-schooler, and a kid-dude, a community advocate, and a lover of coffee.