Big Girl's Bed.

Two weeks ago, my wife had the pleasure of setting up Taylor’s big girl’s toddler bed in our daughter’s very own, for the first time alone, I can’t believe she’s two years old, room. I cannot speak lightly enough of the numerous stresses and intricate planning that went into this momentous afternoon. Adrianne and I contemplated everything, had contingencies for everything, and prayed a lot. We discussed when we should set up the bed, where we should set up the bed, who should set up the bed, if Taylor should help with the set up or should we surprise her with a new bed; we discussed where we should put up the stairs-blocking gate, or if we should buy a taller gate– Taylor’s learned how to reach over the top and open the other ones–, and if we should take her crib down on the same day the new bed goes up or wait to see if she settles into the bed first. Sadly, I have to admit our conversations lasted days and we rarely agreed on every detail.

“What happens if…,” was the spark that usually began our sometimes heated tête-à-tête. Like the stumbling parents in an evening sitcom, our questions became just as comical as our solutions. For example, we discussed who should set up the bed. Now, in our household we’ve both wielded hammers and screwdrivers– I’ve been around them all my life and one of Adrianne’s many early jobs was as a carpentriss (I know the word doesn’t exist in the English or Oxford dictionary, but come on … this is a blog!). We both have at least minimal “maintenance men” skills, so turning a couple of bed screws and following the three page, step-by-step instructional manual wasn’t enough to default the job to me. I wanted to put together the bed because Taylor’s my little girl; Adrianne wanted to do the same. Ironically, the decided factor of who was going to put together Taylor’s bed came down to Simon. Actually, it came down to Simon’s behavior.

The day Taylor’s bed was put together was the same day Simon was a little wild man. Boy, oh, boy was he a hellion! Up. Down. Over. Around. There was just no stopping the lad from climbing, clawing, and pining for everything just out of his reach. After several hours of chasing him around the house, Adrianne tired of his tomfoolery and insisted she would be the one twisting the screws and brandishing the orange craft hammer putting together Taylor’s new bed. Begrudgingly, I consented. Mommy needs memories too.

Her new bed is a Walmart special, or was it Target…? It doesn’t matter. My father wanted to build her bed, probably out of ash or oak, since he rarely ever uses lighter woods like pine or birch, but Adrianne and I decided to forego the offer. We just couldn’t see spending the money on a piece of furniture Taylor may or may not like, use right away, or that we plan to keep for a very long time. For example, as I am typing away my feet are resting on a coffee table he made almost eight years ago. I want my father to make his grandchildren their bedroom sets, however, I also want them to have those sets for longer than a year or two.

To our pleasant chagrin, Taylor, posthaste, took to her new nest. Screaming with delight as her dancing feet pitter-pattered in a sideways shuffle across the bedroom floor, she could not wait to snuggle into her big girl bed. Even now, she still gets overly excited about going to bed. Some days she will even ask to “nap” up to an hour before her regular naptime– like today, for instance.

My father once told me, “You never stop worrying about your children.” How true. The amount of time Adrianne and I spent worrying about how Taylor was going to take to her new bed is laughable now, even embarrassing. But that’s what parents’ do, right? We fret, we agonize, and we lose a little sleep endlessly trying to be the parents our kids deserve.