Yesterday I awoke with sharp shark fins pressed against my ribs (of the hard, plastic variety) and it inspired me.
It's time the Sprocket slept in his own bed.
I have loved my time with my Sprocket beside me, being able to reach over in the night and check his breathing, being able to study his face when I wake, seeing his first grin when he sees us in the morning.
But... I do believe it's time. Gulp.
My beloved and I have been discussing this for awhile. I have been of the opinion that when plastic figurines come to bed with a kid then it is time for said kid to leave the parental bed and have a bed of their own to contain aforementioned hard and uncomfortable figurines.
The Sprocket also likes to sleep on top of the blankets while I like to sleep under the blankets, which leads to blanket draft.
That the Sprocket likes to sleep horizontally with his feet under one parents chin and his head against another is a further factor. That I would quite like to sleep curled up beside my beloved, gently numbing up his arm as it lies beneath me, as a good wife should, is another number in the equation.
"Hon, when he wants plastic grasshoppers in bed with him he's not a baby he's a big boy and he needs his own bed."
"But my little boy," my Beloved says in anguish.
"Wouldn't you like to sleep next to your ever-loving wife for a change?"
Hint.
There is a correct answer here.
"But someone might come in the night and steal him!" my Beloved cries.
"Hon, he'll be a foot away!"
(Did I mention we both found Toy Story 3, when the little boy leaves home to go to college tear-inducingly heart-breaking?)
I was not talking a major move here.
My plans for the Sprocket's new bed were that it went in our room, next to our bed.
The room we call the Sprocket's is down a hallway and has windows that he can easily wind open and climb out. (And is also full of washing. Ahem). Obviously it is far to far away for any of us to be comfortable with. I still want to be able to hear him breathe.
So yesterday the Poppet and I went shopping.
And returned with a bed. Just like the bed I used to have when I was a little girl. Small, wooden, with railings. It's makes me step back 30 years just looking at it. Sigh again.
And the Poppet and I put it and all 16 of it's weird bolts together. (The Poppet, obviously, was a big help)
And last night the Sprocket slept the night in his own bed.
The photos are of the Poppet trying it out. She is quite taken with it.
Please note the shark I found poking my ribs yesterday morning. Big ouch.
And the grasshopper that is essential for sleeping.
When the Sprocket wakes his shark and his grasshopper are the first things he asks for.
Tonight, well tonight was a different story, but tomorrow is another day.
It's time the Sprocket slept in his own bed.
I have loved my time with my Sprocket beside me, being able to reach over in the night and check his breathing, being able to study his face when I wake, seeing his first grin when he sees us in the morning.
But... I do believe it's time. Gulp.
My beloved and I have been discussing this for awhile. I have been of the opinion that when plastic figurines come to bed with a kid then it is time for said kid to leave the parental bed and have a bed of their own to contain aforementioned hard and uncomfortable figurines.
The Sprocket also likes to sleep on top of the blankets while I like to sleep under the blankets, which leads to blanket draft.
That the Sprocket likes to sleep horizontally with his feet under one parents chin and his head against another is a further factor. That I would quite like to sleep curled up beside my beloved, gently numbing up his arm as it lies beneath me, as a good wife should, is another number in the equation.
"Hon, when he wants plastic grasshoppers in bed with him he's not a baby he's a big boy and he needs his own bed."
"But my little boy," my Beloved says in anguish.
"Wouldn't you like to sleep next to your ever-loving wife for a change?"
Hint.
There is a correct answer here.
"But someone might come in the night and steal him!" my Beloved cries.
"Hon, he'll be a foot away!"
(Did I mention we both found Toy Story 3, when the little boy leaves home to go to college tear-inducingly heart-breaking?)
I was not talking a major move here.
My plans for the Sprocket's new bed were that it went in our room, next to our bed.
The room we call the Sprocket's is down a hallway and has windows that he can easily wind open and climb out. (And is also full of washing. Ahem). Obviously it is far to far away for any of us to be comfortable with. I still want to be able to hear him breathe.
So yesterday the Poppet and I went shopping.
And returned with a bed. Just like the bed I used to have when I was a little girl. Small, wooden, with railings. It's makes me step back 30 years just looking at it. Sigh again.
And the Poppet and I put it and all 16 of it's weird bolts together. (The Poppet, obviously, was a big help)
And last night the Sprocket slept the night in his own bed.
The photos are of the Poppet trying it out. She is quite taken with it.
Please note the shark I found poking my ribs yesterday morning. Big ouch.
And the grasshopper that is essential for sleeping.
When the Sprocket wakes his shark and his grasshopper are the first things he asks for.
Tonight, well tonight was a different story, but tomorrow is another day.
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