On adorable monkeys

On Saturday, we brought Tristan and his cousin/best friend to see Curious George to celebrate Tristan's upcoming birthday. It was the first time in a movie theatre for both boys, and they both loved it. Of course we did the whole deal with popcorn and a drink (apple juice - haven't yet caved in and let him have pop yet), and aside from a few squirms and particularly loud comments (one of which drew laughter from the parents around us), both boys were golden.

It's a gorgeous little movie, probably my new favourite children's movie ever - and I'm married to an animator, so I know from kids' movies! It's sweet without being saccharine, beautifully drawn in classic 2D style, and not once is there a joke based on farts, burps or bodily fluid. There is no scary villian, and nobody gets mauled or dies. Can you imagine? (Tangent: what is it with Disney movies? Ever noticed that a parent almost always dies or is recently dead in Disney's animated features, and it's usually the mother? Everything from Bambi to Beauty and the Beast to Finding Nemo... I could go on.)

Back to Curious George, tho, and the music - I bought the soundtrack as a birthday gift/memento for Tristan, but I'm the one who has it on repeat play on the stereo. Like the movie, it's gentle and catchy and impossible not to like.

My first and lasting impression, though, was the very same thing that occured to Beloved as we watched the movie. Curious George is Simon. Not only the way he gets into trouble and is so damn cute about it, but something about the way he is drawn catches some intangible aspect of Simon's personality. We're not the only ones who noticed - my cousin's wife picked up a Curious George T-shirt as a late birthday present for Simon, and said it just struck her as the perfect gift for him.

I'm sure me casting my son as a troublesome and pesky monkey has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he has climbed out of his crib three times in the last two days. I'm not ready for this. He's 25 months old, for goodness sake! It's not time for a big-boy bed yet. We just gave up his bottle on FRIDAY!!

When we moved Tristan to a bed, we did it with a sense of purpose, if not a little guilt, when he was 20 months old and his sibling was due to arrive and commandeer the crib in two months. I would have kept Simon in his crib forever, given the opportunity. Hell, he slept in a cradle beside my bed until he was eight months old and so large I had to fit him in with a shoe-horn.

I am beginning to suspect I have issues with him growing out of his babyness. Little bit, maybe? And yet, although I have acknowledged on a logical level that we might someday move my 35 lbs child out of his crib, I am in no way prepared (emotionally or bedlinen-ally) for this transition. We have a bed frame, but no mattress. We have no sheets, no comforter. You'd think that maybe some time in the past two years it might occur to me to watch the white sales and pick up an extra set of sheets, maybe a pillow.

Denial. It can be an art form.