I'm not naieve. I knew this day would come. But I enjoyed, treasured, relished every day of the past almost-made-it-to-four years. For these almost-four years, I have put Simon in his bed when it was time to sleep, and he has stayed there.
For the first couple of years, it was because the crib rails didn't give him a choice. He could scream all he wanted, but nap time was over when Mommy said it was over. The day started when Mommy said it started.
At two, I put him in a bed, and he never once got out of it. It didn't occur to him to just hop out of bed and get up and play. I was thankful that we never had to make it a "thing" that required explaining and discipline and endless amounts of reminding.
Looking back, it was bliss - being in control of when wake-up time happened.
Well, I have ridden that train as long as it would take me, and now it has reached the station. And an almost-four-year-old conductor is demanding that I get off.
He's almost four. Technically he probably doesn't need a nap. But I say he does. I am bracing us all for the new stage of pre-school, which will suck out all of his emotional, mental, and physical energy as he tries to behave, learn, play nice, make friends, adjust, follow new rules, and enjoy his new surroundings.
There are days when he still takes three-hour naps and then there are days like today when he is determined not tot, and we go into all-out Mother-Son WAR.
Back during the Last Great Poop Training Fiasco of 09, one of the by-products of our (failed) efforts was that Sy started getting up when he needed to poop or pee. The good news is that he no longer sleeps in Pull-Ups. The bad news is that we stepped on the slippery slope of Independently Getting out of Bed.
Now, my son thinks he can get out of bed whenever he makes up a reason. Most of the time, it's fine. I try not to make an issue out of it, so it doesn't turn into a thing.
Today, it turned into a thing.
A screaming, crying, get back in there now THING.
Don't come out of here until the middle number is a Three!!! (me, jabbing his digital clock with enough force to break it)
Mom, the clock changed, the clock changed! (him, over and over again)
I said the MIDDLE NUMBER!!! (me, ignoring the fact that we've never really used the clock in this way before)
Now, the middle number is a three. He's succeeded in waking up his sister. Since they are playing nicely, I am tuning them out and enjoying a few extra moments that I am not ready to have stolen from me by a boy who is just growing up
PS - A big thank you to you all for caring about the doctor drama of last week. I really appreciate you all weighing in with your insightful, sensitive comments. We're going to the dentist tomorrow. Hopefully, it's not as bloggable as the pediatrician was.