Tag: Rochester

Quicker Than We Know It

On By Doser3In Dreaming of Mommyhood - GeneralLeave a comment

For the past few days, it’s been agony in our house.   We’re back home from our two week vacation to Rochester and trying to get back into the swing of things.  I’m not sure what our problem has been, and by “our” I really mean my children, but to say they’re not getting along is an understatement.   The past few days I’ve found myself contemplating Baileys in my morning coffee, job searching, and even just running away from the house, leaving the boys to fend for themselves.

Yesterday I counted the days (including weekends) until school starts back for my children.  It was 46 days, so 45 today.   I’ve played around with the idea of creating a countdown board, one to help me through the days, but I thought it might depress the boys.  Apparently I don’t know my children as well as I thought.   When I told both of them how much longer they had until school started, I was met with cries of “that’s way far off” and “I don’t know if I can wait that long.”  Huh?  My kids are actually looking forward to school.  Imagine that!  Perhaps I will create that countdown board after all.

It’s as if the school seemed to know that I was desperate for the summer to be over as I received packets for both boys in the mail yesterday.  It’s your standard “welcome” packet complete with photography waiver, PTA dues, calendars, and volunteer opportunities.  Excitedly, I tore into the packets and perused through the calendar.   So much will be going on this year and I can’t wait for the adventures in learning to start.

This afternoon, I decided to begin work on the packets, first thing being to take the calendar and log in all essential days onto my personal calendar.   For the things I felt my husband needed to be a part of, I emailed a calendar invite to him so he could add it to his schedule.   I was feeling accomplished and for the first time all week, I’ve felt normal again, and able to breathe, but then things started to unravel as I continued adding events.

In September, there are two separate Donuts with Dad days that my husband will need to attend with BOTH boys.   As I entered those events and hit “ENTER” the next event popped up on my screen…Davey’s 5th Birthday.  My first born will be 5 this year.   5!!!!   Thanks, Google!   Way to give my heart a true smack for being so ungrateful.

I continued on into December, with another shouting from my calendar of “Henry’s 3rd Birthday”.  How is this possible?   How are my children going to be 5 &3?  How are these days going by so quickly and yet so painfully slow as well?

Fast forward a few months on my calendar and we’re into April when Davey begins testing for kindergarten readiness.   TESTING!!!!!  Gah!  I don’t know whether to be excited, happy, nervous, scared crapless, or worried.  Actually, I know what I am…I’m sad.   My first baby is growing up and will no longer be in preschool.  He’ll be in school, all day, every day.   He’ll have lunch without me.   He’ll spend six hours of every day without me.   He’ll have a life away from me, and as much as I’m exhausted with the two of them this summer, I’m saddened by how quickly life is moving for my little family.   Even when I’m so overwhelmed with the two of them and all I can think about is how quickly the day will be over, deep down I’m hurting.

Lately Facebook has been inundating me with memories of Davey.  There have been pictures of his first steps, the first days we were together as I became a stay at home mom.   There are memories of his silly faces, his dances, his “no pants Tuesday”, imitating daddy, cuddling with Dixie, eating breakfast on the back porch, learning to write, Facetime with Daddy for breakfast, dinner and bedtime (since daddy used to travel so much) and “reading” silently in his room.    It’s as if Facebook is insync with my moods and knows that I need these reminders even when I’m desperate for some peace, for some time away from my children.

People tell me I’ll miss these days all the time.   They’ve been telling me that for years, but I’ve chosen not to listen, to tune out their “all knowing” voices.   I’ve put my head down and found a way to plow through each day with my boys and just hope for the end of the day.   I tell these people they’re nuts, that I’ll “never miss these days,” but I will.  We all know I will.   Heck, I’m already missing the days when Davey had his little baby voice as he was learning to speak.   I already miss the days when I could pick him up and cuddle up with him.   I already miss the days of his chubby little munchkin legs (he’s begun to take after me and is getting tall and skinny).   There is so much my heart already hurts over, things that have long since gone.

It’s a shame it takes things like Facebook memories and school welcome packets to zap me out of my summer blues with the boys.

 

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Butterflies, Snakes, and A Few Other Things

On By Doser3In Dreaming of Mommyhood - GeneralLeave a comment

It’s hot down South.   Nope.   It’s not just hot, it’s “I just sweated off my deodorant, walking ten feet to my car” hot.   It’s so hot that I can’t even bring myself to take my kiddos to our neighborhood pool because there is no shade.   They may be able to get in the pool and cool off, but I’m exhausting myself keeping sunscreen on them, making sure their little feet don’t get blistered on the hot concrete (they REFUSE their water shoes), and trying to keep myself from burning to a crisp.

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Fortunately, for the past two weeks, we’ve been in Rochester, NY where for the most part days there have felt like college football weather down here.   The mornings were crisp, light, and refreshing, with the occasional breeze wisping over your skin.   The nights were cool enough to sleep with a fan and window open, reminding me of the cooler summers of my youth when we would spend the night with my grandma who had NO air conditioning.   So, my boys and I have been spoiled for two weeks.   They’ve been outside a lot, minimal television and iPad usage, and exploring what’s around.  Now that we’re back home, well, it’s just too hot to be outside.

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Today, I thought we could remedy that by going to the Roper Mountain Science Center for the last day of their Butterfly Adventure.  I knew a big portion of the exhibit was inside, so we would be cool (when not in the simulated rainforest perfect for the living conditions of the butterflies), and the opportunities to explore and learn would be immeasurable.

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I’d head a lot about the exhibit before we left for NY.   Between packing and Vacation Bible School at our church, I didn’t have the opportunity to take the boys.   I decided that once we got back in town, I would take them before it ended.

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We go to the Roper Mountain Science Center at Christmas for the lights and easily the best Santa around, but outside of that I haven’t been to the center since my college days when I was in their planetarium for an astronomy class.   I’ve considered going on numerous occasions, but truthfully Henry is just exhausting and he seems to make things unenjoyable for Davey (and well me at times, too).

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I’m an early riser, so we left as soon as we were ready and made it just after the gates opened at 9 am.   The lines were not that long, perhaps a 15 minute wait, and the boys were able to pass their time cooling off in the water misters and drawing their own butterflies on the sidewalk with the chalk provided.   Davey continually asked questions since he had developed a fascination with butterflies thanks to this past school year where they watched a caterpillar become a butterfly.  Henry?   He didn’t care.  He was just along for the ride and eager to terrorize.

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I’m not sure what I was expecting, but what we experienced wasn’t it.   We didn’t get to just see butterflies, but we also got to touch them, and even entice them over to us with our nectar wands, easily the greatest thing for Davey.   The butterfly adventure, was short, sweet, and to the point, but since you’re paying good money to get in, the center encourages you to check out the rest of what’s available which included a marine lab, an ecology lab, and a wildlife lab, which just happened to have  a corn snake ready to be petted.   Davey took one look at the snake and said, “no way”, while Henry wanted to hug, and squeeze it and take it home.   Henry couldn’t possibly get this from my side, this must come from his father’s side of the family (wink wink), snakes are not my thing.

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We spent the remainder of our morning “milking” a cow, which I found to be humorous for today’s kids who are completely clueless with the appropriate way to milk a cow.  Thank God for this country girl to show ’em a thing or two.   We toured backwoods homes, school houses that mirrored the one from Little House on the Prairie, and a farm.   We petted sheep, goats, chickens, and cows.   The boys washed their clothing the way my grandmother used to…an old washing board.   They thought they were to take the rags and clean the board, not that the board was to clean the rags.   Kids these days.

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While I’m sure we could have seen and experienced more, this oppressive heat just seems to be taking it out of us.  It’s difficult during the dog days of summer to find things to keep the kiddos busy, but today was definitely an adventure for the books.

Flying the Friendly Skies

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Travel day comes along much too early.   Regardless of how early you may get in the bed, eager to rest your weary bones before a day of travel, the time to arise and begin the excursion comes much too early.   For me, travel day is the most exhausting day in the world, beating out the days when my children were born.   I typically set 3 alarms; my ancient clock radio, my cell phone, and either a battery operated clock or one that you wind up.   I have this immense fear of missing a flight, so I always have a back up and a back up for my back up, but even then I don’t sleep well.   I’m still too nervous that all of my alarms will fail.

So, needless to say, Wednesday, June 22nd, I was wide awake at 3 am, 45 minutes prior to my alarm clocks going off.   My children and I had a 6 am flight to make our annual two week summer vacation in Rochester with my in-laws.   Instead of dilly dallying, I got up, made an extra strong cup of coffee, and began getting dressed.   Our plan was to leave at 4:30 so as to get to the airport by 5 am, we actually ended up leaving at 4:15, with the bright moonlight illuminating the road ahead and a 5 Hour Energy in my system.

This is my second time flying solo with my boys.   This year also marks the first time in which we have to pay for Henry to fly, meaning he gets his own seat.   It’s also the first time we haven’t flown Southwest (since they’ve decided to cancel their flights from Greenville to Rochester).  United won out on the bidding wars of flying.  So, we were navigating new territories, or perhaps some just a bit unfamiliar.

I’d quizzed all my Facebook friends (my measly 300) and inquired about the wait times for TSA which I’d seen on the news over the past couple of months.   People were missing flights, lines were atrocious.   While I’ve never had a problem with security in Greenville/Spartanburg, I still asked if anyone else had experienced long delays.   With a 6 am flight on Wednesday, on a non-holiday, I was told by everyone it should be pretty easy.   So, we arrive at the airport to check in at 5 and I’m told we had just made the cut off.  What?  Surely this woman was jesting.  Nope! The boys and I stood in an almost 45 minute line at TSA security and we were one of the last ones to board our flight.   This should have been an omen.   I should have heeded the signs that this was not going to be as I had hoped it would be.

Flight 1
All prepared for take off.

We were not the last ones to  get on the plane, about 8 more people followed, and as I’m getting the boys seated and ready to go, iPads queued up with movies, coloring books and crayons at the ready, my darling oldest, the one who made me a mother, the apple of my eye, sees a rather well endowed woman in the physical weight arena and shouts out, “Mom, have you ever seen a lady so BIG?”

My mouth dropped open.  I could feel the stares of all of my fellow passengers, some I know were chuckling, others were mentally scolding me for not enforcing that age old rule from my parent’s generation, “children are to be seen and not heard.”   As the lady got closer, I felt the sharp knives of her contempt stabbing my body.   I did my best to diffuse the situation by explaining to my son that everyone seems large to him because he’s a little guy.  You know, the whole relativity/perception thing.   That didn’t work.   “Everyone’s not THAT big, mom.”  I smiled at the faces around me and buckled in for what I was sure was to be a torturous ride.   There would be no escape, but if this were the least of my problems, then I would survive.  Problem was, it wasn’t the least of my problems.

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As we taxied down the runway to take flight, I caught a distinct whiff of poop, and since I was pretty certain that no one would have crapped themselves, I knew it had to be my sweet little Henry who had chosen NOW as the time to have a movement.   At least it was in his diaper and once we were in the air, I could go to the bathroom and change him, or so I thought.

The engines on the plane opened up to full throttle and we began speeding down the runway as Henry decided to reach his hand in his pants, and pull it back out, covered in pooped!   I frantically looked around me, eager to find something to wipe his hand with, but the only thing I could find was a vomit bag and before I could use it, my sweet little angel, decided to wipe his hand on the seat back in front of him!

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The seconds ticked by slowly as I kept trying to bide my time for when I could unbuckle and haul my child into the bathroom to change him.  After what felt like an eternity, we were at a safe cruising altitude and the seat belt sign went off.  In one swoop, I grabbed the diaper bag and my child, tried to divert my eyes from the offended large lady as she humpfed at me, and went to the lavatory that is smaller than the size of our coat closet (which can hold about 10 coats).   Imagine being inside a Pringles can and attempting to change the diaper of a 35 pound 2 year old.   And what’s worse, the poop had leaked out onto his shorts.   So, from that point forward, for the rest of our travel experience, my son would be walking around in his diaper.

So, three things had happened…the long delay at TSA, my vocally observant 4 year old, and my pooping 2 year old.   They say everything happens in threes.   Surely, I was out of the woods, right?   One would think!

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After arriving in Newark, and just as we were attempting to board the last leg of our journey, I was stopped by the ticketing agent at the gate who inquired as to if Henry was a lap child.  I pointed out the ticket she was holding in his name and at that point she asked if he didn’t have any pants because United requires ALL passengers with a seat to wear pants.   Excuse me?   No! He didn’t have pants, he had soiled them.   To this she asked, “well, aren’t you prepared for instances like this?”  No I was not prepared because the last time Henry had done something to this magnitude, he was 6 months old!   She held the tickets for a minute, looked down at my boys, smiled at them, then looked back at me and frowned as if to shame me for being unprepared, and finally let me on board.

I see people flying with children all the time.  It seems to be flawless, but it never is with me.   Why is that?   The only good side to our flight was that we made it into Rochester a half an hour early.   That’s 30 minutes less of being inside a tin tube with my children and no escape.

Next week, we fly the friendly skies back home.   This time daddy will be along for the journey, whose patience is quite a few levels lower than mine.

Christmas Tree Hunt

On By Doser3In Dreaming of Mommyhood - GeneralLeave a comment

On the second day in Rochester, Grammy said to us, “let’s go cut down a Christmas tree.”

Kunz's Christmas Tree Farm.
Kunz’s Christmas Tree Farm.

We awoke to a cold and blustery morning, but no snow, much to Davey’s dismay.   By mid morning, we trekked through Kunz’s Christmas Tree Farm near Penfield, NY in search of a tree for Grammy’s house.  It’s been quite some time since I’ve actually sought out a live Christmas tree and on a farm no less.   Live trees are cumbersome, they’re messy, they require regular maintenance, and you’re cleaning up their needles for the next year, but they’re also fresh, aromatic, and even romantic.

Row upon row of uncut trees.
Row upon row of uncut trees.

The last time I had a live Christmas tree, I was in Charleston, SC in 2001.  The last time I hiked through the woods of a tree farm, my brother was five years old, I was 11, and my mother was miserable.   29 years later, and I’m searching for a tree.

The boys perusing the pre cut trees.
The boys perusing the pre cut trees.

What did we want?   We listened to the owner discuss when he’d planted trees, how many he’d already cut, the fact that we were early or perhaps he was late, and which tree would be best to meet the criteria we had.   There was blue spruce, douglas fir, fraser fir, pine, and a few others.   We were given a cart and a hack saw, we were definitely getting back to the adventure and reality of getting a Christmas tree.

Henry helping Daddy and Grammy.
Henry helping Daddy and Grammy.

My husband led the group, my father-in-law complained about the fact that my mother-in-law had two perfectly good fake trees in storage, and my mother-in-law and sister-in-law chaperoned the boys who were nearly bundled up beyond recognition.

Davey helping Daddy with bring the tree around.
Davey helping Daddy with bring the tree around.

We walked a few hundred yards, inhaling the crisp western NY cold air.   Mother Nature was definitely playing her role in the whole “Doser Family Searches for Tree” scene.

Henry off for the hunt.
Henry off for the hunt.

There was every tree imaginable…full ones; short ones; tall ones; fat, tubby ones; and even ones that resembled the pitiful tree from a Charlie Brown Christmas.   After very little debate we landed on a tree.  What kind?  I couldn’t possibly tell you and I was quickly losing faith in the young lad who attempted to tell us.   He looked over the tree, stroked its needles with his gloved hand, before taking off his glove and rubbing the needles.   He closed his eyes for a moment, as if willing the tree to speak to him through osmosis of the needles.   I chuckled and had to walk away, no offense to any of you “tree whisperers” out there.

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My husband gallantly and a bit exhaustingly, I might add, cut down the tree, loaded it onto the cart, and trucked it off.   The entire event took a mere 30 minutes of our time, but was truly an enjoyable experience.   Davey created a song to the tune of “Going on a Bear Hunt”, while Henry did his best to keep up on the walk.

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Day two of Thanksgiving in Rochester is in the history books.   Day two of the excitement and adventure that surrounds the worlds of Grammy and Aunt Dee Dee.   Day two of my boys truly being the most well behaved little angels I never thought I had.  🙂

 

On The First Day in Rochester

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Aunt Dee Dee did for me…a fun-filled crafting spree.

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Our night was short and sleepless.   After the previous evening’s flight, we were all exhausted and Henry had given cry a couple of times during the night having woken in a strange place and in a strange bed, but we all made it, safe and sound, to Grammy’s house, and now we were heading out for an exciting morning of Pancakes and Pajamas at Aunt Dee Dee’s house.

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Rochester, during the winter, is known for its gray days, downtrodden weather, and temperatures much colder than this Southern ga’ls blood is accustomed to.   Today, Rochester did not disappoint…she held true to all of her “winterly” traits.

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So, we dressed the boys in their winter pajamas, put on their insulated snow boots, jackets and hats then trekked off.   When we arrived at Aunt Dee Dee’s, the aromas from the kitchen beckoned us in like the teasing finger of a wicked witch.     She had eggs on the stove, sausage and ham placed on plates, and was finishing off with silver dollar pancakes.   Homemade hot chocolate enticed us at the bar, and fresh fruit, which should be unheard of in these parts at this time of the year.   Did she pay high dollar to specially ship them in?

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The boys were excited and indulged in almost a dozen pancakes between the two of them, two slices of ham and a half dozen sausage links.   I suppose travel can famish the souls of toddlers.   And what a treat, to have their own special Santa “milk” jugs complete with straws, with which to put their hot cocoa in.   My boys are spoiled, but never as much as when they see Aunt Dee Dee.

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After our wonderfully fulfilling breakfast, we jumped onto the craft train that Aunt Dee Dee had scheduled.   The boys painted ornaments and decorated cookies.   And we even followed this up with a special surprise guest…SANTA!   That’s right, Ole Saint Nick decided to stop by Irondeqouit, NY to see the two little Doser boys.   Davey jumped ecstatically, eager to see Santa and fill his ear with all the goodies he desires. Henry? Well, let’s just say Santa is a little on the scary side for him.   We all, including Grammy, had to thaw the ice of fear that seemed to paralyze Henry, and after a few minutes he shuffled over to Santa, if only to give him a high five before scurrying off behind the safety of Grammy’s legs.

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I was told we’d have a special guest and I suppose I should have known it would be Santa, but my in-laws are great at planning surprises.   Santa was definitely the whipped cream on top of the Pajamas and Pancake breakfast. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay long, so the boys stood at the door and waved goodbye to Santa before we completed our day of decorating Aunt Dee Dee’s tree.

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Our trips are always exhausting, especially the travel, but there’s always one guarantee when visiting Rochester…my boys are never disappointed, and today was no exception.

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Have a Little Faith

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Such a simple, simple phrase. How many of us hear this every day? How many of us repeat this to ourselves every day? Our personal mantra. Well, for the next eight weeks, I’ll be saying this to myself over and over.

Last night I did something that in theory seemed like a good idea. At the point I conceived the idea (nearly three weeks ago), it seemed like a good idea. I had grand visions in my head, selfless AND selfish acts. I was (and still am) going to do what is best, or what I feel is best for everyone except me, so I booked a flight for my husband and two year old son to fly to Rochester, NY WITHOUT me.

Henry’s actual due date is December 20th, but since I am having a scheduled C-section, the actual date of birth will be Friday, December 13th (dun, dun, dun). That being said, it almost seemed like Davey’s grandparents and aunt would not be able to see him this year for Christmas. Normally, we fly up the first week of December since my husband is a shareholder with his company, which is headquartered out of Rochester.

The first Friday of December is his annual shareholder’s meeting and company Christmas party, so we try to make a week of it in Rochester since Davey was born so that my husband’s side of the family will get some time during the holidays with Davey. This year, thanks to Henry’s impending birth, we didn’t think that was possible. However, I thought long and hard about it and felt that my husband and son should still try to fly up at least for a few days. That means I will have four days all to myself.

It started out as a selfless act, but then evolved into something more. What a break! Four days! How sweet, wonderful, and enticing. Immediately, I decided I would coerce my husband into doing this. It was all such a fabulous plan until I booked their tickets last night.

What was I thinking? Four days ALONE???? I haven’t had even ONE day alone in over two years. My body and mind has adjusted to this. How will I survive? My sister-in-law tells me to schedule a day at the spa. Great idea, the only problem is that requires money and since I’m a stay at home mom, we’re not exactly rolling in any sort of extra cash.

I could read some books! That would be awesome, considering the only books I get to read these days are “Three Billy Goats Gruff” and “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day”. I could get caught up on some of my writing! That sounds great as well especially since I don’t seem to have time for too much of that anymore between potty training, the croup, and my other “volunteer” activities I do to keep my resume still active for the day I decide to go back to work.

Hey, I could sleep in! Might as well try to bank some hours seeing as how a week later we’ll be adding a newborn into the fold. Too bad you can’t really bank sleep hours.

I could watch old movies or adult television, anything other than Disney movies. There’s so much I could really do with my four days of being baby and husband free. No cooking dinners, no laundry to do, nothing! It’s all great, but it’s still not easing my mind or my incessant need to worry. So, what’s eclipsing all of these fabulous opportunities I’ll have at my disposable? My narcissitic personality and need to be in control.

I awoke this morning and told my husband I could never forgive him if he lost our son at the airport while they were sitting through a lay over! Can you believe I said that? The only thoughts swirling through my head are the two days of travel for my boys. How will my husband handle flying solo with Davey? He’s NEVER done it. Heck, I’ve never done it either, but for some reason I have a lot of faith that I can handle it. I’ll say out loud that I have the faith in my husband. He would NEVER let something happen to Davey. He would sacrifice himself before he let something happen, but what if the unthinkable still happens.

Davey’s fast, insanely fast! What if he breaks free of my husband’s grasp and my husband chases him only to catch him and then tweak his lower back when trying to pick Davey up? What then? How will he survive? What if Davey walks into one of the many shops and starts pulling items off the shelves and onto the floor when my husband isn’t watching? What if he tries to grab something in one of the shops and runs without paying? Will security and police be called? Will my child play the game of “this isn’t my daddy?” with the police? What if he won’t sleep on the plane and starts kicking the seat in front of him and the person becomes angry, which then angers my husband and they get into a shouting match and Davey and my husband are forced to leave the plane? All of these “what if” scenarios are killing me and I’m still eight weeks away from the actual travel. Can you imagine how I’ll be when I drop them off at the airport?

It’s not that I’m a super mom, but I just know it’s easier to have the “tag team” effect when travelling with a toddler. It’s not that I don’t have faith in my husband. It’s not that I could necessarily PREVENT any of these things from happening should I be travelling with them. It’s just that with me the whole out of sight, out of mind phrase doesn’t work. I’ll be a nervous wreck. I’m already a nervous wreck. Geez!

My husband says to me this morning, “I’m insulted and I’m hurt that you think I would let something happen to our son.” I don’t think he would LET it happen, but sometimes it’s really hard with Davey. Until then and even on those days, I’ll just start working on faith, having a little more of it, and saying my prayers for all of us.

As a side note, my husband is thinking of getting a leash for Davey just for those days of travel. I’m totally against this, but if it will help him keep track of Davey, then I’ll concede. As long as my husband never puts the leash on Davey while around me.

Big Boy Bed

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Try to say that three times really fast!

So, last week I took advantage of the Labor Day holiday, which meant my husband was home and could entertain Davey, in order to start work on Davey’s new big boy room. I’ve put it off a lot longer than I did with his first bedroom. I’ve toyed around with ideas on what would be best. Did I want to do a room devoted to Mickey Mouse or did I want to do one with a different Disney theme? Side note…anything Disney rocks this child’s world!

Then I thought of practicality. Did I want to redo a room again in a few years when he’d outgrown some of the kiddie/baby phase? Not really. I needed something easy, something convenient for me, and something that would grow with him. That being said, we quickly decided to avoid a themed bed (he has a racing car bed at his Grammy’s house in NY), just because I didn’t want to fork out the money again for another new bed in a few years. We landed on a contemporary, with a hint of the traditional, full size wooden bed. Bedding can always be changed.

For a month the bed sat in our garage as the days ticked by as we awaited anxiously the ultrasound that would determine whether we were having a boy or a girl, hence dictating which room the bed would actually be placed. After a trip to Rochester to see family, and a quick jaunt to Myrtle Beach to kiss summer goodbye, we began work last week, and I must say so far I’m pleased.

enjoying some quality time on the new bed
enjoying some quality time on the new bed

It’s a nervous arena, being the parent of a child who’s growing, one that you wish would stay your little baby forever. I cried when we converted Davey’s crib into a toddler bed! How the heck was I going to react to this? Truth be told, I was second guessing moving him into another room. First, the nursery is a tad bigger in size than his new bedroom. There’s more closet space, more playroom. Second, what if he became really irate about giving up his room? What if he didn’t want to move? Of course, this hasn’t been the problem and we haven’t even referred to the nursery as Henry’s room.

Finally, with the walls painted, the bed up, and new bedding on top, we decided to let Davey have a “go” at the room on Saturday. Naptime is much more different. No longer do I rock him to sleep. Instead, I say “nap time” and he runs up the stairs (just like he always has) and I tuck him into his bed, give him a kiss, read a book, and then close the door. it takes about a half an hour to 45 minutes of him “talking” to himself or “reading” one of his books to his stuffed animals before he finally goes to sleep. Bed time is much the same, which has become quite shocking to both me and my husband. We both thought we’d have a bigger issue with getting him asleep in the big boy bed.

first official night
first official night

From time to time, I see my little baby in his big bed and I do get a lump in my throat. I love the new stages and his growth and development, but I am super sad to know that one day he may be much too big for that bed.