The past two weeks of parenting have been the most challenging since The Imp was newborn, fresh out of the womb, and I was completely overwhelmed with the not-knowing newness of it all.
I blame the Big Boy Bed.
Looks fairly innocuous, doesn't it? His crib mattress on the floor, the same blankets and bedtime pals...
And we thought the electrical outlet would be our biggest headache... such optimism! We safetied it beyond all reasonable measures; not only is there a child-proof cover on it, beneath the cover is electrical tape covering the outlets as well. All our work notwithstanding, this corner of The Imp's bedroom is a lurking pit of evil.
It has turned my complacent crib-sleeping toddler into the most magnificently maleficent perpetrator of angst-causing, sleep-depriving NAUGHTY LITTLE BOY behaviour, including but not limited to: bedtime escape attempts by the dozen nightly, jumping on the bed instead of sleeping, attempting to climb the pulled-out dresser drawers, thereby dragging the entire dresser and all its contents down on himself, dumping out his giant container of mega-blocks in the middle of the night leaving parental foot arch slaying land mines in our path, slamming doors at 3am just for fun, and running to the kitchen to open the fridge, spill the milk, and eat unwashed strawberries (stems and all) at 5am.
Two weeks ago, on Good Friday (good! ha!) The Imp managed to climb out of his crib for the first time and blew his dismount, falling on his head. Being the fearless little daredevil that he is, he is not one to view a mere bruise in the middle of his forehead as any kind of deterrent.
No, The Imp of the Perverse views anything less than losing a limb as a challenge.
We dismantled the crib immediately to forestall the concussion/brain injury that was sure to follow. Little did we know that our little monkey was only a "good sleeper" because he'd been held CAPTIVE in his crib all this time.
The lure of freedom has proven to be too much for him. He cannot avoid its siren call.
I am exhausted.
And apparently it's not appropriate to put your child in a dog cage, no matter how large or lavishly appointed. I asked on twitter and the response was not positive.
I have a lovely sheepskin deal we could put in there...
Any hints or suggestions on how to ease this transition? Or even just an I've-been-there-too story from the trenches?