It occurred to me this morning that the reason I have been sleeping on the living room floor rather than in my bed is because my room is approximately 438 miles from the kitchen where the warm water and formula live. We did try briefly to take a carafe of water up to our third floor master bedroom but that ended up being a bust.
As I sat envying my three-year-old's room on the main floor, just off the living room the thought suddenly entered my head that if we switched rooms, he'd have an enormous space to play, with the added bonus of leaving out the log houses and castles and bridges and roads that he builds. Then for the next eighteen months I could sleep within easy reach of bottles and clean burp rags.
I broached the subject to Hubby via IM. Apparently he doesn't care much where he sleeps because he was pretty ambivalent about the whole scheme. As we were chatting, though, we did come up with one more aspect of the plan.
The Big Boy Bed.
We'd use the move to relocate Little Mister into a twin bed and out of his converted toddler crib. We'd set up the other bunk bed, which, incidentally, I have longed to see used since I was seven years old. For the first time, both bunks will be used, albeit in separate rooms.
Hesitantly I asked Mister what he thought about changing rooms. Sometimes a change is exciting to him, but sometimes if he feels like things aren't lined up quite the way he wants, he'll freak out. Generally he likes a routine, he likes predictability; he even lines his toys up in a row. So changing his bed, I thought, could bring huge amounts of tearful anxiety.
Instead he thought that being upstairs like his older sister was about the coolest thing since, well, she moved up there. Adding to that the honor of a big-boy bed and you'd have thought I offered him the moon.
Right away, we got cracking. When Hubby got home from work, we both began moving and vacuuming and organizing. Curly proved to be really helpful, moving load after load of little things up and down the stairs. We took a break in the middle to buy a new comforter of his choice (Lightning McQueen, what else) as well as waterproof mattress covers. Hubby patiently moved our huge bed downstairs and assembled the stored twin bed. Baby Bear showed his entire disapproval of the whole proceeding by screaming his head off that we weren't holding him. The living room filled with odds and ends gleaned from under beds and in corners. We'll get it all sorted out eventually.
Now, as the house quiets for the night, an exhausted Curly slumbers in her sleeping porch while next door a thrilled Mister sleeps in his new big-boy bed. He is growing up, slowly but surely and I'm thankful for each precious day.
The amount of work it takes to switch two bedrooms is quite staggering, actually, and the amount left to do still seems daunting to me. I'll have to take it a bit at a time, leaving the walls up there rose pink, for instance. I know he won't care for a while and once Baby Bear becomes Big-Boy-Bear and joins him up there I'll have painted the walls the light blue I imagine for that room. But the change has begun.