In babyhood, as in life, there are certain milestones that stick with you. You always remember your first car, your first job, your first kiss (hopefully they don't come in that order). Here at my house, the family has been looking forward to that rite of passage that has been historically known as Ye First Nite In Thine Cribbe.
Now, we've experienced a few false starts on that front. The first time Mommy decided to give it a go was when I was ten weeks old. She was so silly. Because she moved the nightlight into my room she couldn't see when she got up to come and feed me in the night. So she ran into the post at the end of her bed with her elbow. Then she dropped the bottle of milk and it spilled on the floor. She made it into the hallway but forgot Daddy had put the dog gate up in my bedroom doorway so that Boston wouldn't eat my toys. That she hit with her shin and her toes. She yelled a lot of words that I don't know yet (but that I filed away for future use). So ended the first crib attempt. The second was about a month later, but Mommy decided my room was too hot.
Sunday night we decided to try again. Mommy admitted that maybe it was more for her that she was keeping me in her and Daddy's room. Daddy applauded her wise decision. They took this photo of me at 8:00 p.m.
Cute! Happy family. I dozed off. I woke up again and just lay there. Daddy played me some music. I got hungry. Daddy fed me. I couldn't get comfortable and so I cried. Daddy fed me again and played some different music. I cried some more. Then I cried louder. At 10:30 Mommy put me back in my bassinet. I slept pretty well for the rest of the night. Mommy did not say, "I told you so," to Daddy. But she thought it.
My room is awesome. Wouldn't you want to sleep there?
