A Place to Rest One's Head

Last weekend N underwent a rite-of-passage of sorts. The bunk beds which heretofore had been jealously monopolized by L got split and dropped, while simultaneously the prison bars of the crib were thrown wide, and N became the proud custodian of his own "big boy bed".

I have never seen the kids more wound up than when they were readmitted to their room after their construction-time banishment. L was squealing as much as N, jumping on the beds and climbing on the headboards -- all things I let slide in this time of ecstasy, but will now have an uphill battle of trying to prevent from here on out.

A quite similar undertaking about two years ago.

Back in the day, the first few nights that L had in her own bed were a rough ones. She fell out a couple of times (despite what seemed like impervious guard rails) and got scared and fussed a bit in the night. Not so with N. My son to the bone, N sleeps like a rock in whatever forlorn spot he gets dumped in. I've heard not a peep of complaint from him. He especially likes the fact that the guard rail of his bed rests up against the footboard of L's bed, giving him a little seat within his bed. Whenever the jumping gets out of hand and I give the "sit down" order, his butt never finds his mattress, but his little guard rail seat instead.