TodayDe-bunking plans for a new bed
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For the past year, our son, Eli, has been wanting a new bed. We promised to get him one when he became potty trained (mission accomplished March 2008), and we finally followed through on it a few weeks ago.
The bunk beds arrived a week ago Saturday. Ironically, he’s gotten a lot less sleep since then.
That’s because while the beds may turn out to be the coolest, and certainly the most expensive, toy we’ve ever gotten him, he’s not very interested in sleeping on them.
Eli spent the first few hours after we put them together (harder than his crib, easier than his dresser) on the top bunk, or the crow’s nest, as he dubbed it, playing pirate.
It wasn’t until early evening that we had the first bunk mishap. We heard a loud thump and the sound of tears. My husband, Jeff, rushed into his room to see what had happened.
It was, of course, inevitable. Our decidedly un-aerodynamic 3-1/2-year-old had jumped off the top bunk because he wanted to fly like Buzz Lightyear.
“Buzz can’t fly,” Jeff gently reminded him. “And Buzz isn’t real.”
Eli swore not to do it again, and he limped around the rest of the night on a gimpy toe. He later lamented that he knew what the problem was – he forgot to put out his arms.
Still, he remained excited about the bed. He even accompanied me on a three-hour shopping trip for bed sheets with only a few groans.
He picked out two different patterns, Batman and Hulk – or “Hulf,” as Eli refers to him.
Eli had some trouble transitioning from his crib to his toddler bed; many kids do, especially when the move is prompted by necessity. Eli kept climbing out of the crib.
But with the excitement over the new, bigger bed, I thought we’d have a smoother transition.
Apparently I was wrong. The first night in the bunk went OK, relatively speaking. He climbed out a few times and scampered downstairs, where I was almost too enthralled in Michael Phelps’ final Olympic race to notice. (I have vague memories of footsteps on the stairs and Eli’s insistent whisper: “Scared. Scared.”)
Ultimately, he fell asleep in the top bunk and made it through to the morning.
The next night didn’t go as well. Perhaps sensing that my husband and I lacked a game plan, Eli thought of one himself.
About half an hour after he’d been tucked in, Eli appeared on the basement stairs with his lower lip stuck out halfway to the floor. “I wet the bed,” he told us mournfully.
This seemed odd, because, a) he’s just used the bathroom a half hour ago, and b) he didn’t look wet.
“How?” we asked.
He had trouble stifling a grin. “My water fell out of the cup and it got all wet,” he replied. “I can’t sleep in my bed.”
My husband sized him up. “Did you do it on purpose?”
Large grin: “Yes.”
We couldn’t help but laugh. Luckily, he had one more bed, so we sent him back up to it. A few minutes later, predictably, he emerged to inform us that the bottom bunk, too, was wet. We told him to sleep in it anyway.
He finally passed out more than an hour after he first went to bed, but not without concocting a strategy for the next night. Then, he declared, his Hulf sheets were “too scary.”
The next night, he insisted he needed a friend to sleep with whom he could talk to. By 10:30 p.m., I was too tired to argue. I ended up relenting to sit with Hulf on the bottom bunk, and I’m pretty sure I fell asleep before Eli.
Eli continues to use his bed to play during the day, while nights a little more dicey. But I guess one good thing has come of all this. I’ve learned that the bottom bunk is actually quite comfortable, and I won’t feel bad making a guest sleep there at Thanksgiving.
Toni Fitzgerald is the mother of one. She welcomes questions for future parenting columns about kids, families and staying sane in the presence of both. You can contact her at tonifitz@yahoo.com
