Last night, my little Violet slept all night in a toddler bed. It was her first attempt at sleeping not in her crib. I'm proud to say that she did a great job!
When I checked on her when I went to bed, she was sleeping soundly, her little pink hands clutching a stuffed fawn, her face pressed to the soft chenille of the toy. She looked peaceful and sweet. And suddenly like a child and less like a baby.
When I checked on her again after a middle-of-the-night bathroom trip, she was still snuggled warm into her bed, though not holding the toy. She again looked comfortable and even less like a baby.
When I woke for the day and checked on her again, I stifled a giggle as she was half out of the bed, her bottom half, but sleepily climbing back in -- she's light sleeper and I didn't want to disturb her, so I quietly pulled the door around after she'd gotten all of herself back in bed, looking even less like a baby.
Finally, after my shower I went back upstairs to wake the rest of my sleeping family. Scott was awake, lying in bed watching CNN. Milo was sacked out, and Violet was laying on her back in the toddler bed with her hands folded behind her head, looking very snug. I motioned for Scott to come in because she was beyond adorable in that moment. And so not a baby.
Sigh... Why are these milestones so much harder on me than they are on the kids?