Movin' On Up

We moved Nora into her own room this week. I've been putting this off for awhile, because I loved having her bassinet right next to the bed. I had even grown fond of the fug created by Rich, two dogs, Nora and myself sleeping and snoring and dreaming in one little space together. If we could all have slept curled up in a puppy pile in the corner, I'd probably have been even happier.

However, she's gotten so big that her arms would fly out and hit the sides of her bassinet and wake her up. The bassinet (mine from long ago) is made out of some sort of plywood with stapled seams at each end; in the morning, Nora's head would be crammed up against that scratchy plywood seam and she'd be clawing at the sides of the bassinet like a little Tasmanian devil in a wooden crate. (It sounds worse than it was.)

Since I had the day off Monday, I decided to try putting her in her crib Sunday night in case there was trouble. I lay my yoga mat and an old comforter on the floor of her room and bedded down to keep her company while I waited for the wailing to start.

Nora slept through the night without a peep, swaddled up in that big crib like a pebble on a dinner plate. I lay on the floor spooning with the dog and feeling sorry for myself. No more gazing over at her in her bassinet next to my bed as I fall asleep; no more reaching over to feel her grasp one of my fingers first thing in the morning; no more grinning at each other as we first open our eyes in the morning. My daughter has taken her first of many steps toward independence (unless you count being born as the first one). At any rate, there's no going back to the bassinet, and I'm a little sad that her newborn phase is officially over.

This motherhood thing is turning me into a sentimental cream puff.