Big Boy Bed
Tonight my son graduated from a crib to a big boy bed. I do not form attachment to inanimate objects but as we carted his crib out of his room, I couldn’t help but tear up a little. It’s not a nursery any longer. It’s a child’s room now.
I have put him to bed hundreds of times in that crib. I have walked in to his smiling face popping up over the bars hundreds of mornings. I have kissed him through the slats thousands of times. I have sat on the floor next to the crib and held his hand, rubbed his back, his hair, his face. I have watched him sleep for hours through a baby monitor. And now those days are gone with that crib.
As his Daddy put the finishing touches on his bed, he sat on my lap waiting not-so-patiently and as I held him I said, “I’m so lucky to get to watch you grow up. I love you, Buddy.” He nodded and said the phrase that I have trained him to say like a monkey, “I’ll always be your baby, Mama.”
But I know that’s not true. Tonight he isn’t a baby. He’s a big boy in a big boy bed and even though I know I’ll sit next to that bed loving him in new ways for years to come, tonight I still feel a little pang of nostalgia for an era that is no more for my darling little boy.