Aha! So there IS life after bedtime

Last night we made a shocking discovery; when you sleep in a big boy bed it is possible to actually get OUT of bed without the help of your parents. It may seem obvious to some; it may seem trivial to some others. But to us, this groundbreaking newsflash our two year old discovered is neither and just may herald the start of a difficult new stage…

He has been in a big boy bed since September. The transition was *remarkably smooth. He not only went from being upstairs in his crib, sleeping right next door to us to downstairs in the dark basement all by himself in a big boy bed. He has a little bed rail to keep him from falling out, but other than that there hasn’t been anything stopping him from getting out on his own. Nonetheless, he has always contentedly stayed in bed, sometimes for up to half an hour at a time, playing with his animals if he wakes up before we go down to get him and calling out for us if he needs something.

Until, of course, last night, when he woke up around 10pm, rolled over, got out of bed and marched down the hall to the TV room to find a very surprised Mommy and Daddy sitting on the cough.

Standing there holding his bear, still in his sleep sac, he gave me an incredulous and speechless look.

I rushed over to see if he was OK and make sure he wasn’t actually a ghost (he has NEVER in his LIFE entered a room without his mouth or excited foot steps announcing his impending arrival first) and then escorted him back to bed. After getting him tucked back in and lying down with him for a snuggle he turned to look at me and very VERY seriously and with a tone of accusation questioned,

“WHAT were you DOING out there, mommy?”

I refrained from telling him that I had been eating ice cream and girl guide cookies while watching baseball on TV; that would have solidified the end of evening freedom for me forever. I chose the most innocuous statement I could come up with,” I was sitting with daddy. He was doing work.”

“OH?” he said, “Daddy was doing work?”

I explained to him in as banal a tone possible that that’s what grown ups do at night -- work. And no, I hadn’t gone into the hospital. When I don’t have to work I just sit with daddy.

This seemed to appease his little mind and settled the issue for now. I heaved a sigh of relief and went back to eating ice cream…er…I mean, sitting with Daddy. I spent the next 8 hours sleeping in innocent bliss, thinking how brilliantly I’d resolved the issue. That is, until I was awoken by my bedroom door being slammed open and the quiet ghost of Toby standing, in his sleep sac, in the middle of my room, announcing, ‘It’s morning time, mommy!”

I’ve said it before and I suspect I will be saying it again; there goes the end of MY freedom!