Big Boy Bed

The twin bed was delivered yesterday, and Will was very excited to try it out. We'd gotten him psyched up by purchasing a set of sheets with the very same Curious George design as the one on his favorite crib sheet. We let him sleep with a pillow cloaked in the George pillowcase two nights ago, and we kept reminding him that his "cozy big boy bed" was coming! You get to sleep in a bed just like Mommy and Daddy! And so on and so forth.

Will took a while falling asleep last night; he was silent, but Dave stayed in there with him, sensing his alertness to this novel sleeping situation. He was awakened at six-thirty or so by some rumbling truck noises (argh) but went back to sleep with me until seven-fifteen, when he blearily remarked, "Clock says seven. Time-a-get-up."

Nap was more...daunting than bedtime. Will has always been a champion night sleeper and an inconsistent-at-absolute-best napper. (This is the opposite of news to most of you, I know.) He's been so smitten with his new bed, but the idea of putting him in an even LESS restrictive setting for his MORE troublesome time of day--I won't lie, it scared me down deep inside.

I told Dave it was time to cut out the gray area for naps and require Will to have "crib time" from one to three every afternoon, no matter what naps he'd taken before and/or refused to take once one o'clock rolled around. The emphasis was on the "crib" part of the phrase; I didn't want to have to bother with a kid getting up and hurling himself over the guardrail or coming out of his bedroom every other minute to see if I was still willing to put my foot down.

Luckily, Mamp swung by to see Will today after a few days' absence and read him some books in the new bed. I told Will a couple of times that he'd have to be asleep from one to three and asked him if he wanted to sleep in his bed or his crib, to which he firmly answered, "Bed."

I know, the suspense is killing you, no?

I sang him some songs, and when I put him in bed and cozied him up under the comforter, Will started to whimper.

"Bubba," I told him with the voice of someone who is desperate to turn over a new naptime leaf, "if you cry, I'll put you in your crib until three o'clock."

"Be in bed," he countered mournfully.

"Then you go to sleep, and I'll see you at three."

"Yeah."

And he's been asleep ever since.