You're almost three.

Three.

Three.

That seems amazing and impossible to me. I can't imagine you being three. I couldn't imagine you being two. It seems like you just came to us. You just arrived at the airport and were placed in my arms.

Now you are counting and reading books and singing songs and arguing with Mommy and Daddy about which clothes you should wear each morning. My big boy.

And I've been thinking these past few months that maybe an almost-three-year-old should move into a big-boy bed sometime soon. But we put that off a bit since along with it may come the hassle of trying to keep you in that bed. Too, you've seemed content enough with the crib. Up until Sunday night, that is.

Preparations for bedtime were fairly normal, although you balked at reading stories for the first time ever. So you played quietly with your cars until it was time to go into your room. Then we shut off all the lights along the way, gave Daddy a big hug, and I put you into the crib.

That's when the screaming commenced.

I tried to soothe you with your bedtime CD (the soundtrack from "Curious George"), but you wouldn't stop screaming long enough to hear it. I hugged you. I rubbed your back. I told you I loved you. All with the din of your screams swirling around my ears. Daddy came in and tried to calm you too, to no avail.

Then we did the hard thing that parents are advised to do. We walked out to let you cry it out. Your response was to scream even LOUDER. Then you chucked all of your pillows and blankets and stuffed animals onto the floor. (With a satisfied mutter of, "There!") After a moment of silence, your screams ramped up again. "Daddy, OUT!!!! OUT!!!! OUT!!!!" I cringed. I sat on the steps for 15 minutes listening and feeling helpless. Daddy advised me to go do the treadmill since he was right upstairs to listen for anything untoward.

I kept glancing at the baby monitor while I was down there. The lights were hitting the red zone consistently. My poor peanut. You were so peeved. About 20 minutes later, Daddy came down and told me you'd calmed down a bit and the music went off. So we were back to square one with the screaming. Then, right when I was about to turn off the treadmill, down he came with you in his arms.

"I knew it was a bad sign when I heard his door slam," he said.

You'd done it. You'd gotten out of the crib.

Daddy had opened the door and looked into your room to see you standing there. He asked you, "Devin, did you get out of the crib by yourself?" Your response was an emphatic, "YEAH, DADDY!!!"

So we pulled out your air mattress and pumped it up as you watched with a satisfied look. I asked you how you got out. "No, Mommy," you said with a shake of your head. Daddy asked, "Devin, when you got out, did you land on your head or on your feet."

"Feet," you replied.

Then you looked at me and said, very earnestly, "I be careful when I get out, Mommy."

"Were you scared when you climbed out?" Daddy asked.

"No."

We took the air mattress up to your room. Daddy put you in the crib and asked you to demonstrate your escape, which you did gleefully. Then we gathered your blankets and animals and zipped you in. You stayed there for quite a while, but you wouldn't sleep. Around 10:00 you decided to get out of "bed" and dance around the room a bit. Daddy encouraged you to get back in and you finally got to sleep sometime before 10:30.

So the days of the crib are over. We'll convert it to a the daybed version when Daddy returns from Southfield this weekend. Until then, you'll be sleeping on the mattress, as you did again last night (successfully!). Yet another sign that you're growing up on me.

Posted on February 13, 2007 09:10 AM