Daddy and I have been debating about when to tackle the dreaded (in my mind) Crib-to-Toddler-Bed Conversion. He thought now would be a good idea; I was thinking more like on your 13th birthday (because nothing says "You're a young man now" more than not sleeping in the same bed you were swaddled in). It was an eight-month-long trip into Nightmare Town when we converted your sister's crib into a toddler bed, so obviously I wasn't itching to make this move any time soon. But one night a few weeks ago, I was clearly having a crazy moment, when, at 6:30pm, I was all "Hey babe, let's convert his bed now." Daddy was such a good sport and said "Um now? Well, um, okay ..." All I said to you on the first night was "Charlie, don't get up in the middle of the night. Wait until I come get you in the morning." Your response? "Okay, Mommy!" And that was that. Seriously. No lie. We put you in and you sleep. You stay in your bed until I get you. It's glorious.
Well, it's mostly glorious. You are still lacking the gene that gives you the ability to pull up your own blanket when it falls off you in the middle of the night. You are, however, full of the gene that gives you the ability to whine and fuss and holler until someone who was born with the pulling-up-a-blanket gene comes to your aid. It's not cute at all (despite you being full of the gene that makes you painfully cute).
This is the first month that I can tell you've been purposefully aggravating your dear sister. Before, I don't think it occurred you to continue to do something for the sole purpose of aggravating her. But now you have. And you do it so often, you're acting like you get paid per incident. Natalie builds a tower. You knock it down. She screeches at you to not knock it down. You giggle. She builds another tower. You knock it down again. She screeches louder. You giggle louder. And Mommy hides in the closet with a King Size Twix Bar.
You like singing the ABCs. And in the "LMNOP" part, you say "emma pee". Your mother has the sense of humor of a seven-year-old boy, so obviously she finds this extremely funny.
So since you handled the transition to a toddler bed so well, I guess it's time to potty train you. A potty-trained kid is so much easier than a diapered kid, but a diapered kid is so much easier than a learning-to-be-potty-trained kid. And once we accomplish that, I think you'll be pretty well prepared to earn a living. Go get a job because someone's gotta pay for that gene therapy to implant you with the ability to pull up your own dang blanket.
Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy
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