Bunk Beds, Anyone?

Last weekend, while Wyatt was with Terry and my mind was spinning silently into a vortex of solidarity, I dismantled Wyatt's crib and replaced it with a toy box. I can't remember the last time Wyatt actually slept in his crib (embarrassingly, I think it will be a year around April). He likes to climb up the side of it and asks for me to throw socks at him. Certainly not what it is intended for and most likely an activity that has us headed for a recall. So, I decided to call a spade a spade, officially dig my grave as a co-sleeper, and pray that his transition into a big-boy bed goes smoothly and quickly.

(Deep breath and a sigh) Wyatt sleeps with me. Every night. And every nap he is snuggled in my (our) big bed. It might not be socially acceptable but its what works for us. Wyatt usually sleeps for 10 hours straight at night and I do too except for some kicks and maybe a reposition or two. Its OK with me. When he wakes up, I get to hear the first words out of this mouth which I can only assume is something he has been dreaming about. Yesterday it was "Robin Hood hiding in tree. Up, up, up at top. Oh no! Fall down! Bamm." Then he opened his eyes looked into mine and said "Morning Momma!" Yes, sometimes it can be terribly inconvenient and most of the time mildly embarrassing but I think its a good compromise. And just like most of the bad parts of childhood, its fleeting and you are left with only the good memories.

Sometimes I wonder if under difference circumstances he would be still in his crib. If I had a man in my bed every night (preferably/hopefully the same man) would Wyatt never have made it into my bed to begin with. Maybe I would have been stricter with him. Maybe my loneliness and spinsterhood has enabled Wyatt to stay in my bed. Maybe if we both weren't insane cuddlers. And then I think maybe not. Regardless of who is in my bed, I would still want to wake up with Wyatt's blue eyes inches from mine. I can see the scene play out before me, Wyatt would cry and I would start begging. "Please, let me bring him in. Only this once, promise. Please, he needs me." Which would turn into every night.

I was, understandable, nostalgic when removing Wyatt's crib. As each side came down, I would have flashbacks of Lizzy and Rebecca's hysterical antics at its assembly. Flashbacks of sunrises spent watching Wyatt's chest rising and falling. Flashbacks of forgoing sleep to listen to him coo or smell behind his ears. As I packed all of the bumpers and extra sheets into the attic I found myself wondering when I might see them again. Maybe in the next 5 years, maybe 10 years, maybe never. Because you really never know what life is going to bring. And the cliches are true; it all goes much much faster then you ever anticipated.

(Just a brief explanation of these pictures: First, Wyatt is 2 days old. His first introduction to Momma's big bed. Second, the last time Wyatt was in his crib. He's 5 months old. And Third, the other day in his preferred sleeping position.)