The Too-Big Girl

The last thing Patrick and I worked on for Cambrie’s birthday was her bed. Like I’ve mentioned before, both the bed frame and the mattress and box spring set were free—two different people in our ward (congregation) were looking to get rid of them, and we were happy to oblige.

From the beginning, we knew we wanted to paint it. We weren’t a huge fan of the used-to-be-butter-yellow-but-now-aged-and-faded paint. But that wasn’t all—we really just wanted to make it Cambrie’s, to add that personal touch that meant we accomplished something together and did it just for our little girl.

The sanding, priming, and painting itself was pretty straightforward, so here’s the photo rundown:

And here’s how Cambrie liked the finished product:

Yes, there's a computer back there. I don't feel like explaining, so feel free to use your imagination.

We got sheets for her bed, but to be kind to our tiny budget, we’re waiting on additional items, like matching blankets and comforter. It’s not like she really needs them in this weather anyway, and when she does need something warm there are plenty of options until our pocketbook gives the A-OK.

That evening, as Cambrie snuggled into a big girl bed, she was so excited. She loves big beds and mattresses. They’re the perfect playground for wiggly little girls.

And me? I cried. I couldn’t really take it. Even Patrick got "a little sumthin’" in his eye.

Why? Why was it so hard? It was totally no big deal when Cambrie took her first bite of real food, or when she said her first garble-with-meaning, or even when she walked on her own. Those were exciting moments, moments we’d been looking forward to, moments that meant she was progressing. We celebrated, took lots of pictures, and were very happy, but in no way did we get choked up.

To be honest, I’ve been dreading the bed-switch-over for months. On a number of occasions we “decided” to do it, but I kept coming up with excuses. You know, “Well, she’s not feeling well, let’s wait,” or “There’s company coming over in a few days, it’ll make it harder,” or even, when I was grasping at straws, “I’m just tired. I don’t want to spend all night keeping her in bed. Can’t we wait?”

Can’t we wait? Why can’t we wait forever? Why can’t I keep her my little baby for just a little longer? I want to hold her, to walk with her for a few more quiet moments in the dark before I lay her down in the pack-and-play and say goodnight. I want to see her grinning at me in the morning, waiting for me to pick her up and start the day. Why not?

Tiny baby Cambrie in her old bed over a year ago.

Blankie, Paci, and Bed. Perfect.

Playing peekaboo with mommy.

It took Cambrie a few nights to get used to the big bed. But that’s all. She's been going down for her nap like a breeze. She’s always been a good sleeper.

A few nights ago, though, a few moments after I put her to bed and left the room, she cried out. It had started storming, and her bed was much closer to the window (and the lightning and thunder) than her pack-and-play used to be. I went in, picked her up to calm her down, then laid her down again.

“Momma a-net to me.” She patted next to her on the bed.

“Okay, I’ll lie with you for a while.” With me next to her, Cambrie kept wanting to crawl up to the window and look out. “No, it’s bedtime, babe. Lay down here, on your pillow, and we’ll watch the lighting and listen to the thunder together.” She scooted back next to me and lay down.

“Do you hear the rain and thunder?”

“A-raining. Thun-ner.”

I held my hand on her arm, and her quiet eyes watched the window with a steady stillness. The storm grew less fierce, and Cambrie eventually rolled onto her side, away from me. That was my cue.

“Okay Cambrie, it’s time for me to go now. Good night. I love you.” I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and she rolled over to look at me sleepily.

“Night mommy. Wuv oo.”

I left, her little body curled up in the corner of the big bed and her blankie tucked against her cheek. Through the rest of the storm, she was quiet.

Maybe this won’t be that bad. Maybe it’s not the end of the world that my baby is growing up. And maybe it will take her a little longer, anyways, as long as there’s room on the bed for mommy or daddy during bad dreams or loud storms. As long as she still needs us.

Maybe. Maybe.