The great escape
When I stepped out of the shower this morning, Beloved was still dozing and I could hear Tristan talking to Simon. I poked Beloved and reminded him that if he left Simon in his crib too long, Simon might take it into his head to crawl out of it - something we have thus far avoided.
I am in denial over the fact that Simon might some day move from his crib to a bed. In fact, I dread the day. We turfed Tristan from his crib when he was 20 months old, entirely because we needed the crib for Simon's impending arrival. At the time, he seemed plenty old enough, and he made the transition without complaint. He loved his big boy bed.
Except he wouldn't stay in it. I was 11 months pregnant (or so it seemed), still working, it was Christmas, and Tristan would be running around the house every night from midnight until 3 am. It was, in a word, horrendous. It got so bad, and I was so desperate for sleep, that a few times I made sure everything was safe, checked the baby gate at the top of the stairs, and locked my door. I'd find him asleep on the floor outside my door when guilt woke me up a few hours later. Bad mommy memories.
I am therefore endlessly grateful that although Simon is a monkey in almost every way, and manages to find trouble other kids couldn't conceive in their wildest dreams, it hasn't yet occured to him that he might be able to escape his crib.
All this flashed through my head in a heartbeat this morning as I wandered down the hallway, following the sounds of Tristan and Simon's laughter. Tristan had turned on the light in Simon's room, and I nudged open the door to see both of them, plus an assortment of Thomas trains, in Simon's crib. Together.
Trying very hard not to shriek, I explained to Tristan how climbing into Simon's crib was a very very very bad idea. "But Mommy," he said, his blue eyes wounded, "I was just trying to make Simon happy."
Sigh.
Maybe it won't occur to Simon that the ingress is an egress too?
I am in denial over the fact that Simon might some day move from his crib to a bed. In fact, I dread the day. We turfed Tristan from his crib when he was 20 months old, entirely because we needed the crib for Simon's impending arrival. At the time, he seemed plenty old enough, and he made the transition without complaint. He loved his big boy bed.
Except he wouldn't stay in it. I was 11 months pregnant (or so it seemed), still working, it was Christmas, and Tristan would be running around the house every night from midnight until 3 am. It was, in a word, horrendous. It got so bad, and I was so desperate for sleep, that a few times I made sure everything was safe, checked the baby gate at the top of the stairs, and locked my door. I'd find him asleep on the floor outside my door when guilt woke me up a few hours later. Bad mommy memories.
I am therefore endlessly grateful that although Simon is a monkey in almost every way, and manages to find trouble other kids couldn't conceive in their wildest dreams, it hasn't yet occured to him that he might be able to escape his crib.
All this flashed through my head in a heartbeat this morning as I wandered down the hallway, following the sounds of Tristan and Simon's laughter. Tristan had turned on the light in Simon's room, and I nudged open the door to see both of them, plus an assortment of Thomas trains, in Simon's crib. Together.
Trying very hard not to shriek, I explained to Tristan how climbing into Simon's crib was a very very very bad idea. "But Mommy," he said, his blue eyes wounded, "I was just trying to make Simon happy."
Sigh.
Maybe it won't occur to Simon that the ingress is an egress too?
Said DaniGirl at 7:43 a.m. #
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