Sam is one active little dude. He turns two(!) in a couple of weeks, and he's reached some big milestones lately...like learning to crawl out of his crib.
One night, a couple weeks ago, I heard his little feet hit the floor (at least he stuck the landing) and then pitter-pattering: thump thump thump thump thump. For a split second, I thought, "What the..." but then I shot out of bed like a rocket. I found my previously contained boy, standing at his door. At 2 a.m.
And so we bit the bullet, and switched him to a "Big Boy Bed." After debating between a toddler bed, a twin bed with a guard rail and just a twin mattress, we settled on the latter and placed in on the floor.
To make matters even more exciting for Sam, we moved back into our house after doing some remodeling. So there we were on Sunday night: new bed, new room, new house.
We tried to keep the same bedtime routine. We tried to put him to bed without much ado, aside from getting him psyched up for his new bed. But the little guy had something else in mind. For two hours after turning off the lights, my husband and I traded off laying in his bed with him...or, without him.
Sam, the active little explorer that he is, cruised around his room. He'd lay down for a little while, then shoot out of bed, rearrange some books. Lay down, shoot out of bed, move his sippy cup from the book cubby to the little table. Lay down, shoot out of bed and play with the ladybug that glows colored stars. Change from red ("wreee"), to green ("neeen") to blue ("booo!"). Lay down. After two hours, he just collapsed on the bed.
Once there, he slept...until about 2 a.m., when I heard him wake up. (I wasn't really asleep up 'til then anyway, worrying about him falling out, escaping from his room, etc.) I spent the rest of the night in his bed with him. We slept in his twin until 4:45 a.m. That's when we got up for the day.
I get it, I do. He's never had the freedom before to explore his room at night. He's been in a cage (his crib), and now he's free. He has things to do. Books need rearranging, sippy cups need moving. Stars need to change colors. I get it.
I can fully appreciate freedom--my running lately has given me that. I've had progress with a physical therapist treating me with dry needling (OUCH, big time) and nerve openers for my back/hip/hamstring, and strengthening exercises. Running, for me, is freedom. And I'm happy to have it back.
Hopefully, I'll soon have sleeping back, too.
