A little over a week ago, Harry Beau slept in his crib for the very last time. We took it apart, took it out of his room, and in one fell swoop, replaced it with a big boy bed of his very own. Complete with dinosaur sheets that he picked out himself.
There’s an awful lot wrapped up in that short little paragraph. My tiniest human and caboose of our family has outgrown something. Not just a few pairs of pants or some old play clothes, but a rather significant piece of childhood milestones. Our home is officially cribless. I am both delighted (let’s face it, unless you’re over 6 feet tall, placing a child of any size into the bottom of a crib is a balancing act… let alone an almost 3 year old with all the length and weight that comes with it) and sad. In so many ways, Harry Beau still feels like the tiny babe we brought home from the hospital in a world that felt like it was crumbling before us. He has so many of the same mannerisms as he did in those first weeks after we met him. The tightly curled palms as he falls asleep. The grin that goes from ear to ear. The cheeks that envelope his eye balls when even an glimmer of smile starts to show. The way he tilts his chin ever so slightly when he’s pretending to listen to what you’re telling him. He’s still so snuggly and loving. It’s hard to fully wrap my mind around his actually turning 3 in just a few weeks. And yet, here we are with Dino sheets and a twin mattress.
The transition from his crib to his bed has gone alarmingly well. How could I have prepared my heart for him to just be ready? How did my baby suddenly decide it was ok to be big? I know I didn’t tell him… and yet, here we are. Our toddler is in full toddler mode (if only he would get rid of his diapers) and ready to take on the world. Ok, maybe not the world, but at least the square footage of our home’s walls.
It’s so fun to watch your kids grow up and become the tiny versions of the big humans they will eventually embody. It brings with it laughter, worry, prayer upon prayer, and just about every other emotion on the spectrum. Oh Lord, what a gift and a blessing - and also the reason I probably have grey hair - it is to raise these smallest of His saints.
I don’t often remember the details of Audrey’s toddlerhood. So much trauma and grief shadows those years. Perhaps I don’t remember them because it protects my heart from the pain? Or perhaps I don’t remember them because I wasn’t an active participant; more like a warm body that was there but not really? However, there are moments, like when I find a truck or a digger hidden under my pillow, or a family of dinosaurs strewn about the floor of my shower, that I remember this stage with Audrey. With vivid color. The dolls that were delicately placed in all the seats. The dress up costumes that had been on and off and back on again throughout the day, left to be worn again tomorrow on the floor outside the bathroom. Toddlers are a hoot. They are life giving if you’ll let them. They are exhausting too. And they are the most perfect flashing neon sign for our need for Jesus. Because nothing brings out your ill temper better than stepping on a dinosaur tail on your way to yell at your kids for never, ever, cleaning up after themselves. It’s not just me, right?
And when we realize how desperately we, I, need Jesus, I also realize how quickly my time with my kids is disappearing. That one day I’m in the thick of diapers and cribs and naps and sticky hands but in the very next I’m going to be watching them get married and have babies of their own. Suddenly those dinosaur pains fade and the reality of an empty nest (because logically a big boy bed leads to him getting married) gives you the desire to snuggle a little longer after reading those bedtime books.
So yes, it’s been big and celebratory over here, as Mr HB gets all grown up. But it’s also been full of mournful and reflective tears. And lots and lots of extra snuggles.
