When do you take the plunge and put your ‘baby’ into a ‘grown up’ bed?
My son was 2½ when we moved him into his big boy’s room, complete with single bed (didn’t bother with a toddler bed), bedside lamp and his own CD player. He was chuffed to bits and he made the move wonderfully – only a couple of trips to sit on the stairs and “listen to what mummy and daddy are watching on the telly”.
He never abused his new-found freedom and to this day he still lies in with a good book if he wakes up too early. We thought this parenting lark is easy peasy.
Then we had a daughter. Look at her.
I’ve told hubby she can stay behind bars until she’s at least 6! I just don’t trust her.
She’s devious and manipulative in a way our little boy never dreamed of. To be fair to her, she is a great sleeper – 12 hours every night with no incident (apart from the night she took the cat to bed).
But she is a minx. To get our attention at bedtime she stands at the foot of her cotbed calling.
Not “mummy” because that won’t get my attention She stands there yelling my actual name.
“Tara”, she yells with all the authority she can muster. “Tara. That means you. Tara”.
When I eventually give in and open the door, she’s stood there naked with a pair of Winnie the Pooh ears on her head.
On top of that she throws herself around her bed during the night like a demented octopus – all legs and bedcovers.
“She’ll be fine,” husband assures me (I think he just wants a bit of easy DIY when he’s called on to convert the cotbed).
But last night she sealed her fate. Daddy was left to put her to bed on his own and she managed to smuggle the tube of toothpast under the covers . . .
The bars stay on.
(NOTE: This was written 6 months ago and hubby eventually got his way and converted that cotbed into a bed. It was as hellish as I predicted it would be. He now listens to everything I say).