“So…one of these days, soon, you’ll be graduating to sleeping in a big girl bed, just like Lydia!”
“No.” replied Regina.
“No?” I was incredulous. “What do you mean no? Your entire M.O. has been about growing up and out of your tiny little body. Getting out of the crib and into an actual bed is a pretty big part in this whole growing up thing.”
“I Love my crib. I want my crib forever.”
“Well…okay. For now. I’ll hold off for a bit. But you must sleep in a bed someday.”
“No! I don’t wanna!”
Yep…it escalated again. Reg is always ready and willing to start yelling to make her point. Time to back off.
Every couple of weeks I would bring up this subject with Reggie. And every conversation was pretty much identical to the one recalled above.
I had given the subject an awful lot of thought. Perhaps I could keep selling the idea to her. Maybe I could just rip the band-aid, and make the crib disappear and give her no choice but the bed to sleep in.
Then again, I see the mischief she gets into, and a little tiny part of me feels very okay with her being contained. Granted, the containment is symbolic, she can climb out of there whenever she wants. She just hasn’t worked up the courage to get her other leg over the rail.
Then it came time for our vacation, we stayed in a Northwoods Cabin for a week. They only had beds there, I knew she would be fine with it, and I was right.
“I think we need to get rid of the crib and get the toddler bed up by bedtime after we get Home.” I told Annie one evening while still on vacation.
“Why so?”
“She’s been sleeping in a bed all this week, she’s been doing fine. If we put her in that crib after we get Home, we’ll be right back on square one. This has turned into an opportunity. We gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”
“Good point. Let’s do it.”
Wonderful! We’ll be getting rid of that chewed up and ruined crib! For some strange reason, our girls channeled the spirit of a beaver with that thing, it was gouged, scratched and covered in chew marks, it looked horrible, I was pretty excited about getting it disassembled and out of our house.
The day came. We arrived Home, unpacked the van and started the laundry. As soon as things were settled, I grabbed a handful of tools and went upstairs to break it down and make it a part of our past.
I stepped into the bedroom and looked it over thoughtfully. I remember the day it arrived, only two weeks before Lydia was born. As soon as Annie gave me a kiss and took off for work, I scrambled. It was part of a set with a matching dresser and changing table, and all of it needed to be assembled. Without Annie noticing, I had been slowly tidying up the room that would be Lydia’s. Everything was in place, the room was ready, my tools were ready and Annie was going to be gone for eight hours.
Time to get to work.
The dresser was the most complicated item, it was done first. After I got it together, I moved on to the changing table, and finally the crib. As with all things that require assembly, it was more irritating than expected, but I got it done. I hauled ripped-open boxes, Styrofoam, plastic bags and leftover hardware down to the garbage. I then arranged the furniture and stared. The reality was setting in. We were going to have a baby. An actual baby was going to sleep in this room, on that crib. I saw a teddy bear that was baby-sized and laid it down in the crib for perspective.
The faceless bulge of Annie’s tummy was going to be an actual person, sleeping in that crib. Reality was slapping me across the face—hard. When Annie came Home and saw the room, she burst into tears and wrapped her arms around me. As far as husbanding goes, I was winning on that day.
It was such a good-looking crib…back then.
The day we brought Lydia Home, she was in her little baby carrier, we nicknamed it the “baby bucket”. We placed her in the middle of the room and stared at her. There was a long awkward silence. Well, we have a baby now. What do we do next? Perhaps a tour of our Home?

“Lydia, this is the living room, we spend most of our time in this room. Here’s the bathroom, you won’t be using this thing in the corner for a couple more years, you don’t need to worry about that for now. Here’s the kitchen, we make and eat dinner here. This is our bedroom, this is a bassinet. You’ll be sleeping in this for a while, then you’ll be sleeping in your own room! You want to see it? Sure! We’ve been working on this room for a while. This is the changing table. We’ll be spending quite a bit of time here. This is your dresser, it holds your clothing. Mommy (Good Lord! She’s a Mommy!) organized the drawers, I don’t really understand her system here, just trust her on this one. And this? This is your crib!”
I thought about the final night in the bassinet, the night we handed our daughters over to the crib. We had nearly forgotten what it was like to have our bedroom back to ourselves. Silly as it sounds, there was a little separation anxiety happening with us. I remember an inner dialogue plagued with self-doubt. “The reviews of the crib were good. Or were they? Did I assemble it correctly? What if it collapses? Will she be okay being in a room by herself? Then there are kidnappers. Did we lock the window? What if the room is haunted and the ghost terrifies her?”
Both of the girl’s first nights sleeping in a room all alone were harrowing nights for us. We slept horribly, every sound and every twitch caused us to have another look at the baby monitor. It was a leap of faith. We were handing our daughters fully over to a piece of furniture, and we’re somehow supposed to sleep soundly? The crib never failed. If it could speak, I’d like to think it had a soothing voice, “No need to worry Mama, no need to worry Papa. She’ll be just fine, I got this. Now get some sleep.

I stood there staring at that crib, remembering that first day. Now it was beaten up and chewed up. Rail bumpers were trying to conceal the desecration two teething babies unleashed upon it. I remembered all those times I laid our daughters down on it. I thought about all the times I stepped in to see their smiling faces beaming back at me. All the times they’d hold out their arms to be picked up.
I thought of how many times their view of me was obscured by those bars. I remembered reading stories to them, one arm resting on the rail, the same rail they would hold onto while trampoline jumping on that mattress. I remember slipping in to check in on them. I could spend half the night standing there, staring at their curled up little bodies, their footie pajamas with one tiny arm wrapped around a favorite plush toy. I’d have to snap myself out of the reverie and re-tuck the blanket around them.

That piece of furniture was a sanctuary. It was a safe place. It was a place of mystery, the place they always somehow returned to. They could fall asleep on Grandma and Grandpa’s couch, have a vague dream of Daddy carrying them somewhere, and magically that crib was where they woke up the next morning. I have so many memories that somehow involved that crib.
This little box held them and kept them safe during their most formative years. This little box held their dreams.

I took a deep breath and rubbed an eye. All of a sudden I wasn’t so eager to disassemble that crib. It’s the end of an era. Its job is done. It will no longer hold our babies, because our babies have become little girls. If it could understand me, it would hear me thanking it for keeping my babies safe and comfortable. “No need to worry crib, it’s now time for you to get some sleep!”
My babies are girls, someday they will be women. It can’t be stopped, and I will do nothing to stop it. However…I would Love to have one more chance to see my little tiny daughters looking up at me from that crib with those gummy little smiles.

I could hear Reggie downstairs “helping” Annie empty the dishwasher. Truly, a baby no more.
With a shuddering breath, I patted the frame one last time, kneeled and began unscrewing the first corner.