September 25, 2012

My Daughter, In A Bed

A few weeks ago, we decided that it was time for Harper to be out of her crib.  She was climbing out anyway and doing so in a fashion that lead us to believe that she might take a 4 foot drop in the dark in the middle of the night.

For those of you unfamiliar with the experience, there is almost nothing more horrifying than being woken from a dead sleep by the bloodcurdling cries of a person who is reaping the direct consequences of their actions.  This applies both to college students waking up in an unfamiliar bed and rolling over only to discover that they spent the evening with someone who was excommunicated from the Addams' family for being too weird, as well as to toddlers who have fallen out of a crib in an ill-conceived attempt to visit mommy in the middle of the night.

They never want to visit daddy.

The toddlers, or the college students.

So we did away with the crib, but without another bed, we put her mattress on the floor.  It worked well because she didn't have anywhere to fall, but there were some unforeseen consequences, namely that our lovely, precious gem would not so much sleep-walk, as much as sleep-do-the-worm, all around her room, into the living room, etc.
She made herself a nest
 It was a constant game of "Where is Harper sleeping now?" that you hoped wouldn't be answered by a small hand under your foot, followed by screaming and/or teeth in your leg.  Our house began to resemble a beach infested with very well-disguised stingrays.

This, but with babies.
 In any event, we searched for a while and discussed the merits of the different types of beds.  In the end, we decided on a regular bed, rather than a toddler bed because we would eventually need a bigger bed anyway.  We decided on a bunk bed so that when Brynn is big enough for a regular bed, we could save some room.

Through the amazing generosity of Sara's aunt and mother, we ordered the bed we wanted and waited the week for it to show up at the store.  We presented our online receipt to the clerk, who managed to rouse herself long enough to call for assistance in moving the rather large and awkward box out to the car.

The elderly man who showed up with a rolling cart was nice enough but decided he would need some help getting the box onto the car.  I couldn't help him because he informed us that they had no string or twine with which to tie the box to the roof and as a result, I had to go and purchase bungee chords.  How convenient it was for me that they sold them in the store.

When I get out to the car where they are waiting, I find the elderly man and a younger guy in his early twenties.  The two of them being their attempt to load the box onto the roof.  This consisted of the older man calmly holding the bottom of the box while the younger guy slipped a disc, had a hernia, sweated enough to fill a swimming pool and grunted in a fashion that should have brought wild boars in heat from a 300 mile radius.

We get the box onto the roof, get it home, and get it into the house.  I love putting things together, so I started at it.  For the first half hour, Sara was very helpfully on the phone leaving the girls to be very helpful themselves.  When I finally put a stop to that, I managed to assemble the bottom bunk, placing the material for the top bunk in the attic to await the time when Brynn as well needed a bed that 50 times too big for her.

I put my tools away, clean up the room, and go and get Sara.  I wanted to show off the bed that I put together.  I wanted to show her the sweat and love and energy that I put into making my daughter's life that much better, nicer, etc.  I was proud.

"Where are the rails?"
"...They are on the top bunk."
"Oh.  I thought you were putting the top bunk together."
"Oh.  It looks great!  I love you!"

When I got home from work the next day, I disassembled the bed, took the pieces upstairs, brought the other pieces down and assembled the second bed.  I am proud of that one too.
Harper loves it and sleeps in it, rather than wandering the house at night like the vengeful spirit of a departed disco dancer.

I would much rather she be the vengeful spirit of a departed Carlton.



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