Do you remember a couple of months back when I declared that my baby would be spending her first night in her own crib?
Well, all did not exactly go as planned.
She did not, in fact, spend that night in her own nursery,
nor has she spent any other nights within those four walls.
It just hasn’t happened.
Do you want to make something of it?
I thought not.
However, after many unsettled nights of the baby sleeping in our room in her
carseat,
and then snuggle nest,
and then portable crib,
we will be attempting to have her sleep in her own room this evening.
I’m hoping that she’s ready.
I’m hoping that I’m ready.
Actually, I’m kind of kidding when I say that,
because finally, I do feel ready to let her fly.
I think that my anxiety before simply stemmed from the fact that I was not, in fact, ready to let her leave the nest at that time.
Not the snuggle nest,
nor my own little scraped together nook.
We had built such a cozy home together,
baby and I,
in our first weeks and months together.
In fact, one of my first real memories of her is of when she was wheeled into our room, the morning after she was born, all bundled and swaddled and sleepy,
and all I could see where two little eyes peaking out from under the thin, cotton hospital cap,
and she looked like a tiny baby bird,
craning her fragile neck and opening her peachy lips for a meal.
And now, she’s so much older.
She’s so much more aware.
We’ve grown so much more bonded,
as she’s grown so much bigger;
and now, she’s grown out of this little nest.
It’s time for her to make a nest of her own,
using her own twigs and branches and scraps,
and,
of course,
feathers.
I know that she knows how.
And I know that tomorrow morning, just like that first morning in the hospital,
I will see my baby, looking so small and cozy in her crib,
and I will marvel at her little eyes, which are now much wider and more aware,
and giggle as her mouth cranes open in her drowsy hunger,
and I know that I will fall in love with my baby bird,
all over again
when I do.