Tuesday, July 10, 2012

Bigger-ish Boy

So. It's come to this. Other than the diapers (which seriously, this kid is messing with me. I know he can use the potty. HE knows he can use the potty. So just...USE THE DAMN POTTY ALREADY) the only remaining thread connecting Noah with babyhood is the baby jail baby containment force-field crib. He doesn't climb out, he doesn't mind it, why mess with what works?

Um. Well, have you MET my son? (Of course you haven't; that was a dumb rhetorical question.) The point of said dumb rhetorical question is that the child is ginormous by any rational standard and let's face it, it's getting hard lifting him into and out of the crib without whacking his head on the ceiling fan. (Thanks Bob Ward builders for the 8-ft ceilings!) The top of his head comes past Noelle's shoulder who is 5 and a half and ridiculously tall herself. And...he's going to be 3 next month, well past the age for jettisoning the crib altogether. AND we're going on vacation in August where he won't be sleeping in a crib as I refuse to pay for a crib for an almost-3 year old so we need to transition him SOMETIME, amirite?

Because I'm all about traumatizing surprising my children, I got the bright idea last night that hey! he's going to a birthday party on Saturday, wouldn't it be cool if he came back from the birthday party to find his very own big boy bed in his room! Dylan was less excited about this plan but I got my way because I have control issues am like a freight train going fully speed ahead once an idea has taken root. We have a conversion kit! This is a lifetime bed! T'will be a cinch!

(If you know me at all, you know that this is called foreshadowing.)

Digging underneath the crap-ton of stuff in the basement on Sunday night, I finally located the conversion kit. It was intact (Huzzah!) however...in our elation of getting the forever bed for Noelle lo these almost 6 years ago, we neglected to read the fine print. Mainly that it went right from a crib to a full size bed. Do not metaphorphasize to toddler bed, do not collect $200. Generally, much hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth would commence but oh ho HO! But what to my wondering eyes should appear....but a white toddler bed, and away I wiped a tear.

Yes, my packrattiness laziness forethought saved our butts once again. We had never gotten rid of the toddler bed that Noelle had used and it would return from the dead to save us once more. (Zombie furniture, zombie cars, you name it, in my house it's been resurrected.) But this still leaves the problem of disassembling the crib (which we are totally saving for, well, next year: see pack-rat), moving the toddler bed upstairs and the rocking chair downstairs. (Hey Noah, let me mess with your mind. You don't have nearly enough fodder for therapy.) In come the big guns: my dad is coming up on Saturday to help me with the Extreme Makeover: Nursery Edition while Dylan hides takes Noah to the party. It'll be like clipping toenails or ripping off a bandage (also high on the traumat-o-meter): just do it fast and get it over with

Aw Boo-Boo, isn't growing up great? (I'm thinking that a trip to The Cow will probably end up being in order. It's so important to have an escape plan. Also, I'm not above bribing acceptance with new sheets.)

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