Brenia moved out of her toddler bed and into the bunk beds Stacia has just relinquished.
I suppose I should feel sad or nostalgic—lamenting the passage of time and the loss of Brenia’s baby years—but mostly I’m just hoping it means she won’t be joining me in my bed in the middle of the night. Her story of “I was squished in my bed with Stuffy” just didn’t fly with me. I’m sure that bear really compares to 42″ of toddler sleeping sideways in my bed—not to mention the feet in my face.
Stacia is now sleeping on a mattress on the floor (so there’s no “under the bed” to clean), and soon to be sleeping on a yet-to-be-built loft. She’s moving into the highly marketed “tween” age. She is just at that in between stage where you don’t know how to treat her or what might interest her from minute to minute.
She’s not a little girl any more, but she’s still far from teen angst. I’m grappling with my new role as mother of an almost preteen. We’re wading into the muddy waters of tooth fairy disbelief, schoolyard tales, and No Boys Allowed clubs which will all lead into makeup, gossip, and boyfriends.
That just might make me cry.