Big girl bed


I remember the day that the crib arrived.

I watched the truck squeeze down our street. I gazed out the window at the big blue letters spread across the white truck. Buy Buy Baby.

I lingered in the doorway as two men quickly assembled the sides and placed the mattress in the middle.

I remember the first day we gently laid her down in that crib.

She looked impossibly small. Like we bought the wrong size of crib. Like she was lost.

A very little girl in a very big world.

I remember the day we dropped the mattress to its lowest level.

She wasn’t climbing out yet but we were taking no chances.

I remember the day we attached the mobile. And the day we took it down.

I remember the night she slept in the crib for the first time, instead of in a bassinet less than a foot away from where I slept.

And now, I remember the last night we lifted her into it. The last morning we lifted her out of it.

Now I remember the first night we tucked her into her big girl bed.

She looked impossibly small. Like we bought the wrong size bed.

But she also looked so happy.

“Daddy, I’m cozy in here.” she whispers before sleep.

“Mommy, I like my big girl bed.” she whispers after nap time.

Weeks later, she still calls it her ‘big girl bed.’ The word ‘bed’ never unmodified by ‘big girl’ as if to regularly remind me. She is growing up. And loving every minute of it.


linking up with Heather at the Extraordinary Ordinary for Just Write.


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