“I want to get a bunk bed,” my four-year-old exclaimed, out of nowhere, one morning during breakfast.
“Huh?” I thought. I must have misheard him.
Let me back up for a moment here to explain that while my oldest technically has his own room and own place to sleep (a hand-me-down toddler bed), he spends the majority of his nights sleeping with me. I don’t have a strong stance for or against co-sleeping, but I am pro-let-everyone-get-some-rest-so-mommy-doesn’t-go-insane.
So, yes, I was a bit surprised when my son asked to get a new bed.
He wanted a bunk bed to share with his little brother, and to be able to climb down and snuggle with him if he got scared (Cue melting hearts).
Elated by my son’s sudden interest in sleeping on his own, I set off researching local furniture stores and planned for a day of bed shopping.
Our boys delighted in exploring the various bunk bed options — from traditional twin-over-twins with ladders, to funky loft beds and ones with built-in stairs. My husband and I had our eye on some of the more modern versions, but we wanted our son to choose, and he went with a classic.
Bunk bed chosen, the countdown to the six-week delivery date began.
We went to Target and purchased a new set of “Star Wars” sheets and blanket. We cleaned and organized the kids’ room. We talked about how excited we were for the bunk bed to arrive.
The bunk bed was delivered and assembled, yesterday morning. My boys were giddy and eager to climb and play. My oldest set to arranging his top bed with his favorite stuffed toys. He then happily organized his other playthings in the new storage chest that came with the bed. This was slowly becoming “his space.”
He loved his room in the day, but would he love it at night?
Bedtime arrived. We performed our usual routine of bath, brush teeth, then Pjs. Normally, at this point, I would take my youngest into our master bedroom, while my husband tool care of my oldest. This night, I snuggled with my little one on the bottom bunk, while my husband told stories to my oldest above.
To our amazement, my oldest didn’t ask for one more story, or a drink, or any of the other things he does to stall bedtime. He happily went to sleep, followed shortly by his brother.
The night started off rough — with screams and wakeups causing me to question if my son was ready to sleep on his own. My youngest never made a peep, but he was always a better sleeper.
A few trips to the bathroom, and some reassurance everything would be all right, finally got my son to settle down. I think I actually got a decent five or six hours before I ended up snuggled with my two boys on the bottom bunk.
I know there will still be nights when my kids end up in my bed. I know there will be nights when they don’t need me. I know there will be nights somewhere in between.
This is one moment in a long list of moments to define their growth.
Here’s to a good night.