Let's Get Ready to Rumble!!!

Tonight is the night. Bea is going to sleep in her crib. No, really she is. I swear. Albeit this is oh, about the 9th or 10th time we've tried the big transition..this is it. Out of the big bed, into the crib.

A little background:

Being the neurotic mother that I was re: SIDS, Skeets slept on my chest the first 3.5 months of her life. Then we made the big transition from mum's chest to middle of the bed between Dad, Mum & Puggy. This went on until she was 10 months. At about this time, the hubby decided we needed our bed back (wink, wink). So off the the crib Skeetie went. Round 1. Mom and Dad = 0; Skeets = 1. Back to the big bed she went.

Around 12 months, hubby again puts his foot down and says, "no more - back to the crib" Huge fights ensue, but in order to assist the marriage, I agree: Powerskeet goes back to the crib. This time, no crying it out, rather, I stand at her crib rubbing her back for hours on end, saying, "shhh, shhh, shhhh, shhh." I try to sneak out, floor creaks, pug snorts, George types on computer keyboard, you name it, eyes pop open and we've got a live wire Skeets on our hands. Back to the crib I go, "shhh, shhh, shhh." Eventually I get tired of being held hostage to Skeetie's sleeping patterns and she's back in the big bed. Round 2: Mom & Dad = 0; Skeetie = 2.

Month or so passes, George & I are tired of taking shots to the kidneys or receiving split lips due to Bea's nighttime acrobatics so we both agree: crib time. Not to mention puggy has indignantly moved to the end of the bed. We are all tired, bruised and resentful. Crib time it is. This time, I take to signing a trio of Anne Murray songs to soothe dear Skeets to sleep. Yeah, you heard me right....Anne fucking Murray. It must be my daughter's Canadian blood, b/c she blissfully snoozes everytime I sing Ms. Murray's bedtime tunes. After singing "hush little baby" a million and one times, I give up. I can no longer soothe her to sleep; I cannot stomach those songs any longer. I throw in the towel, Skeets is back in the big bed. Round 3: Mom & Dad= 0; Skeets = 3.

A few weeks pass, hubby informs me that we will never have another child if Bea does not get out of our bed. I say, "what about puggy??!! He slept with us and we got pregnant with Bea!!" He's not amused - wants Bea out of the bed. I secretly think: 1. Bea is a great way to avoid getting pregnant again; and 2. I've run out of tricks and its easier to have her in bed. Besides, now she snuggles and I actually like sleeping with her now. She cudddles up to me and hugs my arm when she falls asleep and I wake up to her sweet little face blowing me kisses in the morning. So then it turns into Bea and Mom v. Dad. I make a ton of different excuses as to why she can't go into her crib. Bea stays in the big bed. Dad & Puggy = 0; Skeets (& Mom) = 4.

We go on vacation to Cannon Beach. The four of us squish into a Murphy bed. I decide upon arrival home that Bea is ousted. Off to the crib she goes. I mean business this time. No "shhh, shhh, shhh" No Anne Murray bullshit. It's time to Ferberize. (i.e., put Bea in crib and let her scream herself into an exhausted sleep). In anticipation of a horrific night, I make a nice dinner for hubby, me & puggy complete with 2 bottles of wine (and back-up martinis if necessary). Bea goes down without a fight (Ok, so I cheated and nursed her to sleep then snuck her into her crib muttering one last Murray tune). She sleeps from 7:00 pm to 8:30 while George and I enjoy a nice candlelight dinner. Then it starts. The confused, incessant screaming. I go back and reassure her, then leave the room. Apparently I forgot that she is my daughter. Like her mother, Skeets has no intentions of giving in or taking no for an answer. Thus the screaming continues, continues, continues, until....CRACK and silence. We bolt down the hall to find PowerSkeet emerging victorious, if not slightly traumatized, from her room. She managed to climb out of her safety-approved, baby-proofed crib. How, we do not know. The only thing I can figure is that her pajama feet have traction and she shimmied, in Mission Impossible fashion, up the sides of her crib, swung her legs over and out??? At any rate, I cannot put her back in her crib. I see Oliver shoot her a dirty look as we climb into bed. Mom, Dad & Puggy = 0; Bea = 4.

She spends the rest of the week in the big bed. We go up to Canada, Bea & I sleep in one bed together, George in the other. We agree, as soon as we get back to Missoula, Skeets in in the crib. Last night was the first night we were supposed to stick to our plan. Since she slept so much in the car and is off her (imaginary) sleeping-pattern we decide she should just sleep with us. Puggy won't even look us in the eye any longer, in fact, he opts for the couch. Mom, Dad, & Oliver = 0; Powerskeet = 5.

So tonight is the night. Yes indeed, it is. Skeetie will sleep in that crib and stay there. The crib matress has been lowered to the ground. There is no escaping for little Skeets.

Skeet O' the Day: