Last night was like any other night. I read bedtime stories to my little boy. He mooched a few more out of me. Then, I finally put my foot down. “Good night Boo Boo, sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite you,” I say quietly. I put him in his crib, gave him his “two dogs” that he requests, and then turned on his music. I slipped out the door and breathed a sigh of relief. I get some me time at the computer. Goodie, goodie. A few minutes later, my boy comes running out of his room with a wild look on his face. It happened. He just climbed out of his crib for the first time in his life.
Stunned, I tell my husband the news. “Good job, buddy! He’s a boy,” he proudly informs me. That was not my first response. He is 20 months old. I have no place to put him anymore where I know he will be safe. I’m in shock. I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with this. After the shock wears off, I attempt to put him back to bed. He willingly goes with me and cuddles up to his fuzzy blanket and dogs, as usual. As soon as I leave the room, he stands up and effortlessly scales the crib, dismounting with ease. He appears in front of me with the same wild expression.
In yoga class, the teacher explained to me that we are building muscle memory when we stay in difficult poses for long periods of time. Next time, the same pose will take a little less effort. Apparently, in male toddlers, the rate at which muscle remembers is accelerated. My boy is a prodigy, hence his father’s pride.
It took about 4 attempts of putting him back to bed, and a firm order to lay down, for it to finally stick. I’m not willing to give up on the 4-sided enclosure yet. Morning, thank you God, went fine. He was awake at 6:00 am and contentedly babbling until 7:00. Phew! I was worried.