As I have painstakingly documented on this blog, I have trouble with transitions. With the passage of time (with a birthday coming up you can expect this theme to start crescendoing). Whit’s bunkbeds are arriving on Tuesday next week. That means his days in a crib are numbered. Yes, I know: he’s 3.5 and still in a crib. He’s basically veal. It’s time. I know. I get it. I am still very sad about it. The little man loves his crib, actually, but he loves his new robot sheets for his Big Boy Bed a whole lot more. I keep going in there at night and snapping pictures of him sleeping, and today I got into his crib with him (something I’ve done a lot, with both kids). I am undeniably a better and more engaged parent to an older child, but there is still something very emotional and bittersweet about shedding one of the last vestiges of Whit’s babyhood.
