fanny
Recently we’ve moved Maya from her crib to a big girl bed. She loves love it. “I love my new bed!” is what she always tells the strangers in the grocery store or gas station.
We understood that some sacrifices would have to be made. The experience with her brother told us that once you become free, YOU ARE FREE! There were many nights when Matt and I had to take turns to put him back to bed. He just chose to stay up all night, not because he’s sick or suffered a nightmare. He’s all amped up about the midnight party and wanted to celebrate. He walked out his room and ran over to our room wanting us to join him. 400 TIMES!
So, yeah. 400 and 401 and 402…403…404…405… AS IT ECHOES THROUGH MY EMPTY BRAIN.
While assembling the bed, Matt asked me if I remembered those sleepless nights. “Do I remember it?!” I repeated a little too emotionally. “You mean the one that said, ‘WHO WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ YOUR EULOGY?’”
Why did we move Maya to a bed in the first place? Well, not that she started to climb out of her crib. NOT YET! But very close to, thanks to her brother who had been using all his prestigious teaching techniques to show her how to climb out of the crib. DEADLY. The way he did it when he was younger didn’t cause any casualty fortunately. But for Maya, anything more dramatic can happen. Fires, floods, lava flows. She is capable of it all. Which is why we should be more prepared.
Turns out the struggle I expected never happened. There has been no crying or getting out of the bed in the middle of the night. None of it. Occasionally she will wake up and want to pee. Sometimes she is up around 6am. She will come over to our room, lie down beside me and we continue to sleep for another hour. Best time ever!
EXCEPT if her brother wakes up too. No. No. No. The scene where four of us cuddling in the bed peacefully never happened. She will join him to crash and bash our heads, jump on the bed, run around the house looking for things to make nosier noise.
Maya is our second kid, for crying out loud. Nothing should faze the mother of a second kid. I should’ve known that if a second kid climbs out of the crib and breaks her skull open, instead of rushing her to the hospital, I should lick my thumb and forefinger to wipe off the blood. NOT CHANGING THE DAMN BED.