On Sunday, Sam woke up and declared he wanted a big boy bed. I knew this day was coming (he is nearly three and a half, for heaven’s sake), but I was trying to put it off as long as possible. I like having that kid caged up!
But, since he had decided he was ready, I wanted to move on it. His crib is one of those that theoretically makes a toddler bed and then a double bed, and for some reason I had in my mind that make the conversion was going to require serious deconstruction and reconstruction of the whole thing. As it turns out, the “toddler bed” is the crib minus one side. The directions said to remove two screws. Even I could handle that. So, Sunday evening, we got him all set up.
He was so excited.
(Shout out to my good friend Beth and her son for the sweet bedding!)
I, however, was a bit sad. He is my baby. And he’s not sleeping in a crib anymore. Which would lead to the inevitable conclusion that he is not in fact a baby, but I refuse to acknowledge that.
He’s my baby.
Sunday night, after we had read books and said prayers and sang lullabyes and rocked for an extra long time, I carried him over and laid him in his big boy bed.
In his sweet, almost-asleep voice, he whispered to me, “I still need you, Mama.”
Oh, my heart.
