Making the Move
Leo has moved out. Yup, my baby boy now lives in his very own room, or at least, he sleeps there. And Aaron, the cat, and I are rattling around in the master bedroom, sneaking in to check on Leo so frequently it's amazing he doesn't wake up (well, Aaron and I are checking on him; the cat seems pleased not to be disturbed by what we call Leo's slumber grumbles).
I worried about this move for weeks. Leo still puts in a good night of sleep these days, but as we learn how quickly things change for a baby, the sleeping begins to seem as tenuous as everything else. And for a few weeks recently Leo was turning onto his belly and waking up in hysterics several times a night. Would he get too worked up to go back to sleep in the extra seconds it takes to get from our room to his, I wondered? Would the new surroundings freak him out and jinx our sleep? Would we miss hearing him struggling if something went wrong?
So we divided this move into multiple stages (the nursery is Aaron's former study, which is now in the living room, which is in the former dining room, and vice versa, if you follow...). We put off the final moving of the crib, and I worried until finally I found something else to worry about: We were going down to DC to meet my mother-in-law's two new knees and provide some grandchild cheer during her convalescence. How would Leo be in the car? What would happen to his naps? Would he be able to sleep in his Peapod (the little portable baby tent we used this summer)?
You can probably see it coming: Leo didn't miss a beat. He did miss a nap on the way down but arrived grinning ear-to-ear anyway, then slept like a log in his Peapod. He slept for 3 hours on the way home, presumably recovering from all the doting attention he received. In fact, we all arrived home better rested than we'd left.
We got home on Sunday afternoon, and I looked at my resilient, bouncy little Spalding ball of a son and said "let's move the crib." The move probably doesn't make much difference to Leo, except that we don't disturb his sleep with our pillow talk before bed. But it makes a big difference to us. After Leo's down for the night I fling the rattling frog or crinkly book about jungle animals into the toy box and poof, our bedroom is all grown up. I even replaced the burnt out bulbs in our bedside reading lamps, on the off chance that we feel like reading in bed again for the first time in 5 months. And I'll spare you the details, but we are thinking about embarking on a 7-day challenge I read about for parents who've let their love lives slip.
To celebrate our rearranged house and christen the new dining room, we're having another couple over for dinner this weekend. She's 38 weeks pregnant, so we'll be enjoying our adult dinner from opposite sides of the sleepless, dinnerless interlude. I feel for them. It could even be the last night for a while that they can sit and enjoy a meal while engaging in conversation, then sink into bed for the night. I want to make a dinner worthy of the occasion, so you can guess what I'm doing this week: worrying about what to cook. The more things change...