This past weekend, Gordon and I decided to take the plunge and trade the front of Henry’s crib rails for toddler rails. At first I attempted to cajole my husband into trying it Friday night. He, thankfully, saw through the insanity of that line of thinking and told me we should probably wait until Saturday when we would be able to do it and let the novelty of climbing in and out of bed wear of. Reluctantly I agreed and like a kid at Christmas, I went to bed. After all, tomorrow my kid would get to have a ‘big kid’ bed. He would be able to climb in and out of bed without any help and put himself down for naps, so on and so forth. I was excited for this new chapter in our lives because this momma is so very over putting babies in and out of cribs for a while.
Saturday dawned bright and early in my household, as usual, and with it came the anticipation. Can we put the toddler rails on now? No, we have to cook breakfast. How about now? No, we need to eat breakfast. Now? Is it time for the toddler rails now?? Yes dear, stop bouncing up and down in excitement. And I was excited! (And yes, this is kind of how the conversation went but I did take Henry outside and give him a bath inbetween those times).Out came the toddler rails and the little wrench thingie, off came the front of Henry’s crib, up went the toddler rails, and it was done. In all of ten minutes the beautiful crib that I had picked out so lovingly in October of 2011 when my sister and her husband were in town for my wedding – bam, it was a toddler bed.
I admit, I was so proud of my little man. Even as soon as we got the front of the crib off, he started climbing in and bouncing on his bed. He was excited for this new change too and why not? Freedom and lots of it! Henry spent the next half hour just climbing in and out of his bed. He would crawl in with his blanket, get all settled, lean over the toddler railing, drop his blanket, then climb back out to get it. Rinse and repeat. Oh the novelty of it all to be able to crawl in and out of your own bed instead of waiting to be picked up. It was a beautiful thing to behold, let me tell you. When it became clear that he was tired, really very tired, I said it was nap time. I gave him his pacifier, his blanket, and he leaned on the mattress. He didn’t try to climb in then. I picked him up, laid him down, turned on his dog and walked out of his room. You know what? He slept. He slept in his bed for three hours, not stirring. (How do I know? I kept getting down on the floor outside his bedroom to look under the space between his door and the floor to see if he was still sleeping. Must. Get. A. Video monitor.)
Then when he woke up, Henry played in his crib for a few minutes, grabbed his blanket, climbed out, went over to the door, and jiggled it. Sweet and simple. My mom pride went through the roof. I couldn’t believe how good Henry had been, how easy it was. I was confident come bed time that it would be just as easy. It might take some convincing but I knew that it would work out. We had taken that step around the corner, we had charted a new and better path and it was going to work. Until it didn’t Until it meant half and hour of crying. Of Henry getting out of bed and us having to come back in to usher him back into bed. Us urging him to stay, sleep, good-night and none of it worked. I would let him roam around the room, knock over toys, what have you and instead of getting bored and heading back to bed he would come to the door and jiggle it. Or stuff his blanket underneath the crack in the hopes we would grab it. So he would know that we were there. But we didn’t.
Finally, my husband in another fit of sanity told me that we had tried. We had done our best but when it boiled down to it, it was just too much. Too much change for our little guy. If he had the understanding, the capacity to understand what bedtime meant (which I’m convinced he does), to follow orders and understand consequences, it would be different. But he hasn’t shown that level of understanding yet. It’s a game. And it shouldn’t be. It shouldn’t be a fight of wills and tears on his part. The simple fact is he’s just not ready. Just because he can climb out of the crib doesn’t mean he’s ready for toddler rails. If nothing else, we know he can sleep in a bed with toddler rails for naps. And that the toddler rail conversion kit works with the crib, matches beautiful, etc. But for now the toddler rails will reside in our closet until the time when Henry’s actually ready for them. Not when I’m ready for them.
I must admit my mom pride? Took a severe blow. I hate to admit it but I even cried. Blech. But I was tired of the fighting and I had been so very proud of my little man for sleeping so long and so well during his nap that it was difficult for me to be taken a peg. For my mom pride to be humbled like that. I was so ready but he so wasn’t and it was hard, at first, for me to come to terms with that. I probably looked like a puppy who’s tail had been stepped on as Henry, Emma, and I watched Gordon make the swap from toddler rails back to crib rails but that’s how I felt. Trodden upon and disheartened. I know it’s all about Henry – his development, understanding, readiness – I know that but it’s hard to see something go so terribly right only to ultimately go so terribly wrong. In my own awful way I’m suffering from mommy guilt. Despite the few hours of happiness I gave him (according to my husband) when I suggested we switch to the toddler rails, I also feel like I’m punishing him. Because you’re little, you can’t have this wonderful toy. Instead I will tease you and taunt you with it. I will give it to you then take it away. This is not a healthy way for me to think about it, let alone feel about. I will also further admit to trying to drown these misgivings and doubts in two glasses of sparkletini (note to anyone curious: I am a lightweight and only need one glass of anything. Ever.)
In the end, it doesn’t matter. We tried. It failed. It’s not Henry’s fault. It’s not ours. We know in the future it can work and in the future, it will. Just not right now. My toddler is still just a baby a tad longer. I shouldn’t be wishing for him to grow up any faster than he already is. And hopefully when the time comes I’ll be able to keep my mom pride in better check. But then if it’s this strong now when Henry’s only a year and a half, imagine what it will be when he starts school! Yech. Not to self. See if there’s any healthy way to keep mom pride in check… Oh well. We live and learn and try, try again.
The Plucky Parent 