After I told you about the few hurdles we had transitioning Owen to his new bed, night three came along and he just…went to bed. And slept. He even started requesting to go to bed and when we finished reading his books, he’d flip right over and go to sleep. Obviously we are parents of the year and deserved a trophy for the amazing big boy bed conversion we pulled off.

Life has a way of smacking you in the face when you start to get cocky, I think.

Two nights ago he went to bed. A few minutes later he opened the door and came running down the hall, crying, to find me. I brought him back, tucked him in, told him I loved him and shut the door. Wash, rinse, repeat. Five times. After the last time he whimpered in there for a few minutes, but then was quiet. I figured it was an off night and we would go back to normal the next day.

Last night was worse. I didn’t walk him back five times last night. I walked him back EIGHTEEN TIMES. No, I’m not exaggerating. I started keeping track after that door would open every few minutes and the pitter patter of little feet would head towards me. And every time — just like alllll the books and websites and other parents say — I would walk him back calmly and quietly (seriously, all I had to do was point towards his room and he’d run back in sniffling), tuck him in, saying nothing more than “stay in your bed, goodnight, I love you”, and close the door.


It’s the most workout I’ve had in weeks.

It wasn’t until the end of the 17th round that I figured out that he didn’t want the door shut, so I left it open and he stayed in bed. I thought he was asleep after about 20 minutes, until I heard him come out again. Only this time he wasn’t crying, he was groggy and rubbing his eyes and looked confused (“Is the game over? Are we done playing? This is a game, right?”) so I tucked him in with a kiss one more time. It took a full hour, but he was out for the night. I shut the door a little while later.

And all was quiet, until he came busting into our room at 5:30 this morning and OH MY GOD, KID. I wish I had my phone next to the bed so you could see what I opened my eyes to. Seven or eight trucks lined up on the edge of my bed, a giant Newfoundland head, nose jabbed at me whining to go out and a tiny person with blond hair dancing around saying, “Mama?! Hiiiii, Mama!!!”



Not chai; espresso.

I had resisted putting a gate in Owen’s bedroom door because I didn’t want him to feel locked in there, but if this keeps up I might reconsider. I know it can take awhile when you put them in a bed, but I was SO convinced we lucked out and he just got it.

Smug, be gone with you.