Yes, this morning I converted C's crib into a daybed. And I use the word "I" with both accuracy and pride. Ian had warned me not to attempt such a feat. That I was not a daybed-converting pro.
Apparently he doesn't remember just how many Ikea items I've assembled over the years. In fact, I almost feel like Bob Vila. Almost.
Anyway, it was a little jarring seeing C crawl into and back out of the cri -- er -- daybed with such ease, as if she'd been doing it all her life. Ian and I both got lumps in our throats as we took in one more milestone. She was ready to move on from crib life, as she'd expressed lately by leaping to her escape every chance she got.
Of course I recalled her infant days, when I borrowed a bassinet from my friend Paula at work. C was so tiny. It's tough to remember that she was ever that small. In the bassinet picture (right), she wasn't even two months old. She couldn't even turn over, much less fling herself up and over the prison she considered to be her crib.
I remember she became too big for the bassinet when she started sleeping in it sideways, her head and feet poking horizontally against the fabric. The image looked just like one of those cartoon characters that swallow a submarine sandwich -- C, of course, being the sandwich.
She still seemed tiny when we first placed her in the crib. The extra space was overwhelming. She looked so exposed. At least with the bassinet she was nestled in tight, womb-like, even though she did look as if she'd been swallowed whole by a stuffed animal from Toys R Us.
Now she's big enough to sleep in her first bed. Bed. Wow, just writing it makes me choke up.
And if I'm mushing out on memories and milestones now, I can't even imagine what kindergarten will be like.