Last night, after I put the girls to bed in the room they share, I snuggled up with my laptop and started to relax. Then I heard Annie- shrieking like a banshee.
"Mommmmmmy! Mommmmy! Come see what Lucy is doing!" she cried.
Then I heard 2 little voices of maniacal laughter.
I hightailed it to their room, only to see my Lucy- my precious, sweet-faced girl- with one leg swung over the crib and a determined look on her face. With visions of pink footie carnage on the bedroom floor, I immediately swung into mother-of-the-year mode. (Well, a mother-of-the-year that sounds like she stars on NYPD Blue).
"HOLY FRIJOLES! PUT YOUR LEG DOWN! DO NOT CLIMB OUT OF THE CRIB. I AM CALLING SANTA RIGHT NOW, DO YOU WANT THAT? SERIOUSLY, PUT THE LEG DOWN."
I did not have to get the big fat man on the phone, but I do feel it is only a matter of time. I will miss you, crib o'mine- container of all that is destructive and purveyor of a few more minutes of sleep. Damn you big girl bed. And couldn't you have waited until after Christmas?
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