Yes, my three-year-old still sleeps in a crib. Not because he’s not ready for a big boy bed, but because his father is not ready for a big boy bed.
We have a BBB in the attic. Several times in the past year, I’ve mentioned to Antique Daddy that since Sean easily scrambles in and out of the crib, tightrope walks the rails and dive rolls out like a Chinese acrobat that perhaps the crib no longer serves it’s purpose. Perhaps it’s time to get the BBB out of the attic and let this little boy take a baby step towards becoming a big boy.
This suggestion is always met with some sort of vague response like “Okay, maybe this Saturday” which translates to “No.”
If you’ve been reading this blog very long, then you already know that there are some fundamental differences in how Antique Daddy and I approach life. I gobble, he savors. I cut and run, he hangs in. I move on, he lingers. I am impetuous, he is thoughtful. I cross my fingers, hope for the best and jump in with my blindfold firmly in place, he anal-yzes, plans, proceeds and then backs up. Because I am intimately acquainted with death and loss, my grip is loose. Because he is intimately acquainted with death and loss, his grip is tight. I look forward to the future, convinced that something wonderful is waiting for me just around the corner. He looks back and mourns the loss of each today. He is sentimental, I am crusty.
That is to say.
I have been working on him for the last six months to get the BBB out of the attic. I’m not foolish enough to think that the transition to the new bed won’t be without a few issues, a few sleepless nights, but I’m ready. I think Sean is ready. He is an adaptable little boy. It is time.
So this past Saturday was the “maybe this Saturday” Saturday. After breakfast, I mentioned to him that it was the perfect day to get out the BBB since he could get it out at the same time he was hauling the tsunami-sized wall of Christmas decorations into the attic.
A wall of silence went up. He turned his back to me. And when he turned back, he had tears in his eyes. “I’m just not ready,” he said. “I didn’t know that last night when I put him to bed that it would be the last night that I would ever get to put him to sleep in that crib. Give me a few more days.”
Now I know what men deal with. You just can’t counter tears.
It’s going to be really embarrassing when we haul Sean’s crib to his freshman dorm at UT. And his daddy insists on being his roommate so he can read him books and rock him to sleep each night.