big boy bed

In about twenty minutes, the Bear's brand new big boy bed will be delivered.


We hadn't planned to get him a bed quite this soon.  We liked the fact that he is contained in the cot, and that for whatever reason, my climbing monkey hadn't ever thought to climb out of it.


But on Monday night, I made a discovery.


It was about 6pm, and the Bear was in his room.  I thought I'd grab the opportunity to try to read him a story.  (I know, I know, what was I thinking - the Bear doesn't listen to stories.)  I sat down with him on my lap, and read "Each peach pear plum, I spy - Bear, what are you doing?  Come out from under the co..." 


And that's when I saw it.  The base of the cot was sagging, just a bit.  I pulled myself up from the floor, using the cot as leverage in my unfit way, and the base sagged just a wee bit more.  "Oh crap", I thought.  I lifted up the mattress and saw, not a cot base, but a collection of kindling held together by more kindling. "Oh, crappity crap crap crap!", I thought again.  


I can only assume that the Bear had been practising his new-found skill of jumping.  A lot.


So we made a frantic phone call to Aunty S, who lives round the corner, I threw the kids into the car, and we went round to borrow their travel cot.  


By the time we got home, Pacino was home as well.  While the Gig entertained the Bear, Pacino and I effortlessly assembled the travel cot swore, shoved, swore some more, had a tiny tiff, and eventually got the travel cot assembled.


And the next morning, the Bear and I went shopping for a new big boy bed, which has just been delivered as we speak.  I'm not putting it up until Friday, because I need to put the baby gate up at his door first.  Also, the Bear will be at daycare on Friday, and, to be honest, I'd rather not have his help.


A big boy bed.  My little baby Bear.  Excuse me while I cry.

in the wee small hours of the morning

Last night was really, really cold.  Granted, I live in the sub-tropics, so my cold may very well not be your cold.  But our house is not designed for winter (actually, it's not designed for summer either, but that's another, more whingy post), and it was icy in all our bedrooms.  We haven't got the heaters out yet; that's my job for today.  It's been a really long, hot, wet summer, and this took us all by surprise.  The Bear was rugged up as snug as a bug in a rug, and his windows were closed.  I thought he'd be ok, but I was wrong.


At about 2.30 he woke up crying.  I went into his room and the egg-night-light-thermometer-thingy was blue.  Blue for brrrrrr, naturally.  It was 13.8C in his room.  If you hang on a minute, I'll convert that in my head because I'm very clever.  Ok, difficult maths done now, it's 56.84F.  I think that's a wee bit chilly, especially for a small boy who doesn't keep the blankets on.  So I picked him up for a quick cuddle, gave him back his dummy (pacifier...you guys need to learn Australian English!), and enjoyed the soft, warm weight of him as he snuggled in to me.  Then I popped him back in to his cot, pulled his blanket up and went out again.  He went straight back to sleep.


Lying in bed, unable to get back to sleep, I thought about how lucky we are that he's a good sleeper - that both our kids are good sleepers.  It's not often that I get to have these quiet, snuggly middle of the night times with my kids.  If it happened more often, I think it'd drive me round the twist.  But because it's rare, I enjoy it.


3.15am, still not asleep, and I heard the Gig's door open.  This is especially unusual, because that girl could sleep through a cyclone, an earthquake, a fire alarm, a mosquito whining and a dog barking, all at once.  My poor little baby girl was feeling sick.  So she climbed into bed with us and I got to have my second warm cuddle of the night.  She burrowed her way down the bed until only her nose was poking out, and stayed there for about ten minutes, before she announced that Pacino's snoring was "too much, Mum.  How do you stand it?" and went back to her own bed.


Finally I went back to sleep, until the Bear got cold again at 5.15.  I tried to ignore him, but then I felt too mean.  If I was cold, in bed with Pacino (although he got up about 30 seconds later...bloody workaholic), how cold must my baby boy be?  So I got up and brought him into bed with me.  We lay there for a while, practising our gentle hands on each other's faces, singing songs and snuggling, until the sound of Pacino's shower sang its siren song to the Bear.  At which point I got up for good, took the Bear out to the kitchen and made a cup of tea.


I love my sleep.  Some days, I feel like I'm marking time till I can get back between the sheets.  I can never get enough sleep, and I'm usually very, very cranky if' I'm woken.  But last night some kind of Winter Wonderland must have cast a spell over my house.  I was with my babies in the middle of the night, and I loved it.








PS - the Gig was fine this morning :)

in the wee small hours of the morning...

I have a sick boy. Not a very sick boy, I hasten to add, (and never forget to give thanks) but a miserable, snuffly, hot, blocked-up, sad boy, who had trouble sleeping last night.

So, we co-slept.

Now, I'm emphatically not a co-sleeper. I have nothing against it, but I just can't do it. I love the idea of all my chicks being in the one basket, so to speak, but my kids and I, we're just not good at it. The MOTH is - he snores away merrily whenever we have tiny guests in our bed. Me? Not so much.

You see, I'm a very selfish sleeper. I like to be completely still and not touching anybody before I can go to sleep. The Tween comes in for a cuddle after a bad dream every now and then, but the Toddler is like me, in that he really prefers his own bed. Unless he's sick.

I firmly believe that a sick, scared or miserable child deserves to be in his/her parents' bed. I just really wish I could get some sleep, any sleep while they are sharing my bed. And I have to tell you, while no one wants to wake me up for no good reason, if my kids need me in the night, I am Florence Nightingale and Elise Keaton all rolled into one. I am the best (she said modestly) night-time Mummy in the world.

So last night, as the MOTH slumbered peacefully beside me, and the Tween dreamed lovely dreams in her room, the Toddler and I snuggled, cuddled, sang songs, cried (him, but I wanted to), had little chats about how in the world Daddy can sleep through this racket (ok, maybe that was just me), and generally got each other through the rough old night.

One doctor's visit later, and tonsillitis was confirmed for my poor little munchkin. And right now, the Toddler is fast asleep in his own cot, in his own room.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to bed myself.