We moved Keller into his big boy bed a couple weeks ago (I
have mixed emotions about it, but I’m surviving, thanks for asking). Prior to the big move, we got him all excited
about getting a new big boy bed and made it clear that the only rule was, he
was not to get out of bed on his own. He
still needed to yell for mom or dad when he was ready to get up. We keep his door closed at night mainly because
we have 3 big, dumb animals that would be in his room all night trying to climb
in bed with him and 3 animals and a tossing toddler fighting for space in a
miniature toddler bed is just asking for trouble.
So the first night, he was so excited about it he climbed
right in. He didn’t want me to read or
rock or anything. Just climbed right in
and told me good night. I really tried,
too. “Are you sure you don’t want me to
read to you? You can lay in bed and I’ll
sit on the side and read to you.” “No mama, turn on the light (he meant
off). Night, night.” I’m not gonna lie, I was a little sad about
it…might have shed a tear. But I
digress. He did great that first
night. Slept all night and stayed in his
bed yelling for “mama, dada” when he woke up in the morning. I knew he would…he’s such a good little
boy. The next night, the newness of the
big boy bed had worn off, so we were back to reading and rocking (thank
goodness!). Everything was going great,
even better than anticipated. And then
it happened.
Fast forward a week. My
alarm goes off in the morning, as normal.
Sweet, it’s just the first time…I have 45 minutes of snoozing left. I glance at the monitor before going back to
dreamland and I don’t see Keller. Hmm…I
better take a closer look. Pull the
monitor to my face and squint so as to see better and still no Keller. He’s probably at the other end of the bed,
where the monitor doesn’t quite reach I tell myself. But I’m a worrier and there was no way I was
going back to sleep without confirming my suspicions, so I trudge out of bed in
the dark, no contacts and quietly open the door to his room. And there I see it. Keller’s blanket in the middle of the floor,
no Keller in bed or anywhere to be seen, like something straight out of a Dateline
episode. I start saying his name quietly
“Keller? Keller?” I think “He’s probably behind his chair,
sitting and hiding, knowing he’s not supposed to be out of bed and whenever I
look back there he’s going to be looking up at me with a big grin on his face.” I look, no Keller. And that’s when I go into panic mode. I know he can’t get out of his room because
he can’t open the door, so clearly, a kidnapper must have come in and got him. Clearly.
The thoughts that race through my mind next are full of fear. “Oh my God, where is he? Where did they take him? Who could it have been? I need to call the cops. Should I call 911? Why didn’t they take his blanket with
him? He’s going to be so sad without his
blanket. This can’t be happening. I can’t live without him. I’m going to have to be one of those parents on
a news conference on TV begging some dirtbag to please bring my baby back and
we all know that never works.” And then
starts the screaming. “KELLER! DUSTIN, KELLER’S GONE! HE’S NOT IN HIS ROOM! KELLER!”
And then I spot him…
As soon as you walk into his room, on the left is a bookcase
and then is his closet, with sliding doors.
On this morning, his closet doors were open just enough for his head to
fit in. And so there he was, head in his
closet up against a wicker basket, the rest of his body curled up right there
on the floor. Holy f’ing heart attack…and
sweet relief. Those 30 seconds felt
like 30 minutes. Second
scariest moment of motherhood so far (the 1st was his battle with
the stairs…at least this one didn’t end up in any broken appendages). My first thought was “Thank the lord!” My second thought was “I should go get the
camera and take a picture.” And my third
thought was “Quit being an idiot and pick your kid up off the floor.” Obviously I should have listened to my second
thought. This post would be way better with
a picture.
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