Toddler Bed
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For the most part, my husband and I have very similar parenting styles. We see eye to eye on the major points of parenting: discipline, open communication, education, faith, manners, responsibility, etc. It’s only every once in awhile that we hit a snag in the road and one of us feels very strongly in favor of a parenting idea, while the other has their heels stuck in the sand and has to be dragged, kicking and screaming, the whole way. Our latest battle was over if and when to move Hannah from her crib into a toddler bed.
My husband’s stance: She’s not ready (translation: he’s not ready). She will have too much freedom to roam the house without us being aware, which could be dangerous (although we have a baby monitor in her room that picks up noises so faint, I swear I’ve heard her blink before). She could fall out of bed and break her arm or leg (really? the bed is only four inches from the carpet) We should just keep her in the crib until she doesn’t fit anymore (until she’s eighteen, he means)
These points he would argue vehemently, all the while breaking a sweat and clutching his stomach like he was about to hurl at the very idea of her not being in a baby bed anymore. It was really quite ridiculous.
My stance on the subject: You’re ridiculous and she’s going in the toddler bed. End of story.
Oh, I’m just kidding. At least, I didn’t say it out loud even if I was thinking it. I bought the little plastic mini-bed at a consignment sale when she was just a few months old. It was the perfect little height and design to train her on how to sleep without rails, and if she did roll out it would be a very short fall to the ground, one likely to scare her rather than cause any physical harm. I brought it down from the attic at 18 months and my husband nearly had a heart attack! After a week’s worth of arguing, he finally put it back in the attic while I was at work. I didn’t mind, because in reality, she wasn’t quite ready then. She was still a little frightened of it and asked to be put to bed in her crib.
I told him that I would give him six months to get used to the idea and then we would try again.
Last night was the night. He argued, he pleaded, he moaned, he stalled. However, in the end, the crib came down and the toddler bed was put in its place. I told him that he could tie a bell to her doorknob, which we would be sure to hear over the baby monitor (which at this point will probably never come out of her room). He tied five bells to the knob. Whatever. The important mission was accomplished: getting the toddler bed up.
I anticipated that she would get up several times, cry, and try to play with her toys. I braced myself for the battles I would have with her in addition to the anxiety attacks that my husband would have as a result. I was surprised and delighted to find she took to her new bed amazingly! She only got up once to ask for a toy seahorse to sleep with. Then she happily pulled up her covers, rolled over, and said “Goodnight Mom and Dad. See you in the morning,” and fell asleep. (side note: I’m not sure why she quit calling us Mommy and Daddy, but it started about a month ago. It’s still a little strange. It makes her sound too old. You shouldn’t get to call me Mom instead of Mommy until, at the very least, I am not changing your poopy diapers anymore)
We kept going to the door to listen to see if we could hear the slightest noise that would give away the fact that she had bounced out of bed and was now having a party with her stuffed animals since she had free reign of her room and all its glorious content! Nothing. She slept all night. And in the morning, she woke up talking to herself and her furry playmates, but stayed in the bed until we came to get her.
My husband had a grin from ear to ear, he was so relieved and proud of her at the same time.
