He did it. Right in front of me, he tossed one leg over the rail of his crib and lunged himself right out to the floor. I sat dumbfounded. He looks up at me from his minor crash and says, “Good Job Bake! High Fife!” I couldn’t pull my hand away from my mouth, so I totally left him hanging. I’m not high fiving that.
I am totally not ready for toddler beds and a baby that can escape his nighttime prison bars. He plays happily in his bed during naps when he doesn’t want to sleep, and I fear what will happen when he can get out. I will admit that I resist many changes. I very much didn’t want him to crawl either. I liked the consistency of knowing that if I can leave the room and he’ll stay where I put him. Huh, come to think of it, this is the same issue. It’s a safety issue, really. It has nothing to do with me not being able to accept that my baby isn’t a baby anymore. Nope, that’s not the problem at all.