We have been trying to transition Jacks into a toddler bed this week. Mostly because my mother let him sleep in the bed with her while we were on vacation, and now he refuses to be put back in his crib. So, I felt like this was the opportunity we needed to make this huge transition. Because, if he won't sleep in his bed, I'm worried he'll be in our bed until he's 18.
We began the process by setting up his new toddler bed in the living room while he was napping (in our bed, of course). As soon as he woke up, we told him that we had a big boy surprise for him waiting in the living room. He seemed really excited at this prospect, and he came running down the hall at top speed. Who am I kidding, he runs everywhere at top speed! Anyway, the toddler bed seemed to be a huge hit. He grinned ear to ear as he eagerly climbed on the bed to try it out. He rolled around, he bounced, he laid his head on the pillow. Everything seemed to be working out according to plan. Look how happy he is!
Until it was moved to his room and actual bed time arrived....
I laid down in our bed with Jacks after bath and bottle to get him settled down for the evening with a mind numbing, frequently viewed episode of Elmo. As we neared the end of the show (my favorite part - when it's over), I started talking up the new bed. As in, "Are you getting ready to go lay down in your big boy bed, Jacks?" or, "Wow, I can't believe what a big boy you are! Aren't you excited about feeling how comfy your new bed is going to be?" The answer to each of my questions was a calm but resounding, "No."
I pressed on. I was determined to get that kid in that bed. I endured another episode of Elmo while Jacks continued to get cozier and cozier in the expanse of pillows on our bed. As my mother would say, he was holed up like a little potentate. And he continued to answer "no" to all of my questions. He was clearly ignoring my constant questioning, and I was clearly ignoring his no's. I mean, the kid is nearly 2. He says no to everything (unless it involves ice cream, he ain't no fool).
At the end of another excruciating Elmo, I decided to make my move. He was clearly not happy about it, but he was sufficiently tired at this point so I thought it was all going to work out. Plus, he wasn't kicking me in the stomach and screaming - this is a good sign! We gently and calmly walked into his room to give it a go. Before I put him down on the bed, he started whimpering. As I laid him down and pulled up the quilt, the crocodile tears started with the pitiful face and the protruding lower lip. I started to tuck him in and and pat him down, and at this point he had started full on wailing (I think he was working very hard at producing some actual tears). I kept talking to him in that soothing voice that we adults seem to think works with babies, but he wasn't hearing any of it. The second I took a hand off of him, he shot out of that bed and ran screaming for the door.
I figured he would make it difficult on me, but I never guessed he would sprint away from his new bed while screaming bloody murder. I wish I had the whole thing on video, because his hissy fit was truly priceless.
As of today, we are still experiencing little success on the bed front. He slept about 2 hours in his bed last night before he woke up wailing, and then succeeded in getting back into bed with us. Tonight will be the third attempt. I heard Joe talking to Jacks about the bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, I think Jacks brought it up by pointing to it and saying, "Night, night." Joe ran with it, really talking up being such a grown up boy and getting to sleep in his own bed at night. Then Joe asked, "Are you going to sleep in your new bed tonight, Jacks?" Well, you know the answer to that one.
In our effort to transition my precious baby into a boy, we also got a potty with which to begin familiarizing Jacks with this bathroom mystery. He has sat on it a couple of times, but mostly he uses it as a foot stool to get to the sink. Which is really crazy because he already has a foot stool in there for that very purpose. I guess the plastic potty is lighter and easier to move than the wooden footstool.
Look how serious he is....
Of course, I'd love to ignore all of these momentous changes, and keep Jacks as my precious little baby forever. But, since I can't stop the clock from racing faster than I can blink, big boy changes need to happen soon. If anyone has any friendly advice I will welcome it with open arms, unless it involves scolding me for not training my child to do right in the first damn place. :)
Love to all - K
