Paroled, Toddler-Style

The crib is kaput.

On purpose, that is. It's actually been almost two months since Knute disassembled the crib - one he built from red oak with his own two hands while I was preggers with Princess Pinky - and toted the pieces down two flights of stairs to the basement.

Sir Screamsalot made a surprisingly easy transition to his big-boy bed. As he'd already spent many an afternoon and evening playing (and by playing, I mean leaping wildly a-top the beds then landing with a WWF-style throwdown on both Knute and I) on his siblings' beds, a bed all of his own in his room seemed a prize beyond compare.

Knute asked me Easter weekend as he walked up the stairs with his toolbox in hand,

"Are you ready for me to do this?"

I lifted my hands and laughed; are we mommies ever ready for those big leaps in the lives of our weefolk?

Easter happened to be at our house this year, so I didn't have too much time to mull over the milestone-in-progress; I had a ham to bake, food to prep, and Easter candy to pillage after a long, sweet-deprived Lent.

Sir Screamsalot slept well that night in his new bed and has slept well since, a pleasant surprise for all of us. His usual response to change - a high-pitched, eardrum piercing scream - was gone, replaced with a mumbled, rambling dialogue of his day, one I listened too through the door after I'd kissed him goodnight and reassured him that he'd be just fine:

Gonna-go-night-night-sleep-tight-Mommy-be-here-I'm-a-big-boy-got-my-snuggles-and-music-and-Bingo-and...*sigh*......

The other surprise?

Me.

I haven't mourned the take-down of the crib, the fact that there's no new baby on the horizon waiting for his or her place in our family heirloom.

We never took down the crib with Princess Pinky; Prince Tatertot came so fast on the heels of her babyhood that we barely transitioned her into a toddler bed before he arrived.

But after Prince Tatertot made his own leap (one he fought tooth and nail - he'd be happy to sleep in that crib again even now, I'm betting), I did have pangs of sadness, moments where I wondered, is this it?

As Sir Screamsalot grows chattier each day (truly, he is a wee Ben Stein), I don't find myself longing for the blessing of newbaby days so much or missing the miracle that is pregnancy. Many days, I find the real blessing and miracle to be that I survived it all three times over with my body, mind, and soul intact, if forever changed, by the journey that is motherhood.

This time, I don't find myself wondering, is this it?

Instead I count our blessings, all three, and look to all of our futures, wondering:

What's next?

WM