Melodramatic post alert.
I was talking about all sorts of firsts happening in my last post, and they’re still coming. Tomorrow we are trialing quite a big one – Vivian’s first bed is arriving in the afternoon. Much faster than I ever really wanted. It’s a junior electric bed.
I guess this is my version of what a mom of a neurotypical child goes through when they say that their baby is growing up too fast. Or maybe it’s that darn grief that I thought I’d dealt with already. I really have worked hard to move past a lot of it, so I wasn’t expecting this to be as hard as it is.
I thought we would have a little more time to tuck her in for naps in her cot. Or to come into her room and see that she’s playing and singing in her cot. Enjoying her little patterned cot sheets and tucking things away under it, out of sight for now. Hearing her feet kick against the sides as we get her lunch or dinner ready, or hearing her squeal in delight from behind the slatted head-board, because hiccups are just the funniest things, ever.
I thought we’d have a bit more time to see if Vivian figured out she could bear weight through her arms and learn to sit up in it. To see if she would learn to pull herself up on the sides of it. To see if she would get to stand and gnaw on the rails of it and leave her story engraved there, for other babies to find and overwrite.
I thought we had at least another year of Vivian in her cot. I guess not.
The reality we’re facing is that Vivian is getting too long for our changing table. She actually is already. And since we rent our house, a home modification isn’t really an option. So to save our backs as Vivian gets longer and more awkward to lift on and off our bed or the floor, and more awkward to get dressed on our bed and in her cot, we are trialing this bed.
I am not sold on this bed, but a trial is a trial. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’m worried that the sides won’t stop her from falling out. I know I shouldn’t bother worrying about that right now, since it’s not a realistic risk. It’s one of those things that I wish I needed to worry about already.
If Vivian’s room was bigger, we could trial a different bed, like a giant wooden cot, with very high sides. That model is too long to get in the room and still close the door (or even get through the door).
I know I should be thankful that I can see Vivian kick about in this new bed, and play, smile, and grow in this new bed, and I really, really am. But I know I also need to allow myself this brief moment to acknowledge the hurt and this new kind of different that will become our new normal (and how we are going to have a life time of these, if we are lucky).
I know this really is for the best. And I do want the best for Vivian and for us. It’s just so surprisingly painful. Damn it. I’m so over this surprisingly painful crap.
On the bright side – it’s purple! I hope the pictures are true to life. And now I need to find some new sheets for the Vivster, who is doing very well, all firsts considered. She is taking them all in stride. Better than we are. I’ll write more about those updates tomorrow. Tonight, I need sleep while I can get it.