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i suppose three cribs would be too many.

three nights ago, atticus officially moved out of his crib.  granted, it wasn't to a technical 'big boy bed,' considering we haven't had time to go pick out a bed (and the promising garage sale listing for a 'twin-sized jenny lind headboard/footboard' turned out to be a big dull dud of a 'generic 1970's grandma headboard with no footboard').  so we just took the mattress out of his crib and put it on the floor.  whammo, instant tumble-proof alternative to the real thing.

eventually, he will be getting a real bed of his very own.  just to clarify that we won't permanently be keeping him in wartime prison-like sleeping conditions.

the relevance of this story will make sense in a second:  i cut atticus' hair for the first time when he was two months old, and probably didn't keep the clippings.  mostly because it kind of grosses me out to keep chunks of hair around.  (ask me sometime about the flourescent orange ponytail we have in an envelope in our guest room closet - we have more than enough human hair around for my liking.)  i really could care less if my kid keeps their 'baby curls' at the expense of sporting a mullet - mullets weigh heavier than baby curls in my book, and that stuff has got to go.  

in fact, more generally speaking than just in terms of hair, i love it when they start to grow out of the baby stage and start sleeping like a normal person, eating like a normal person, and in general behaving like a really short and sometimes out of control adult (so basically, like danny devito).  maybe chalk it up to the fact that i'm not really a 'baby baby' person, or the fact that i have a soft spot in my heart for the episode of friends where danny devito plays a tiny little stripper.  all i mean to say is that i'm not super sentimental about keeping my kids in that baby stage of life.

but the other night, laying in bed and knowing atticus would never again (under normal human developmental conditions) sleep in a crib...i got teary.  my oldest baby isn't a baby.  he's a kid.  and there's really not a whole lot left tying him to those little baby moments.

and the pragmatist in me (the side of my brain that is much bigger and stronger and probably better-looking under MRI) knows that it's time - he needs to be in a bed, and soon we'll need the crib for the next kiddo.  and purchasing a third crib is just insane, even for the van voorsts.  but that other side of my brain - the side that proudly admits to it not really being christmas without watching love actually and not so proudly admits to having repeatedly imagined a boy at my middle school standing on a lunch table and singing me a backstreet boys ballad - well, that side...

may or may not have crawled onto a tiny crib mattress at midnight and laid next to a tiny kid and cried for fifteen minutes.

2 comments :

todd said...

He is such a kid now. Seeing him this fall in the jeans that have always been a bit too big for him, after a summer of shorts, now fitting him all too well confirms it. Perhaps looking back we idealize things and create sentiment that we could not have realized in the moment. Maybe it's part of the process by necessity. It could be the case that one cannot realize the moments that later will resonate most strongly in their hearts and minds. I think I anticipate certain things being larger than life and often either corrupt the moment by planning to capture it or am seriously disappointed by the moment I had built up. I wonder if Heaven allows for that sweet pain/joy of looking back on the things which can never again be. There is a sweetness to it: the reflecting, the replaying of memories, the mourning of what was lost, the joy of knowing that 10 years from now, today may be a moment over which I would weep. Round and round it goes. Atticus is growing up. Thanks for being his mom. I pray that he may always honor you as a mom in the ways which are appropriate to his development: that as a youth he would look up to you and as an adult look back to you.

whenjeskasparks said...

totally made me cry with that last remark.

i love you.
you are a good mom.
i hope i'm as good of a mom and a wife as you are.