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Dad saves toddler from crib’s grasp, mom shunned
Winter break is over and the kids are back in school; welcome back, Routine.
Although we did enjoy the kids all staying up later with us, we really enjoyed them sleeping in much later in the mornings. But all good things come to an end.
It’s time to get back to business, back to school and back to bed at a decent hour. It’s time to reclaim my evenings of enjoying a good book, Words With Friends, an adult conversation with my husband (not necessarily in that order).
All went well with our first back-to-school-night routine. No major meltdowns, no “I can’t sleep” and no trouble waking in the morning; too good to be true.
Even our 2-year-old daughter, who tends to be … uh… obstinate, went to bed with little hassle (maybe because I denied her an afternoon nap?).
The next night was the same. All were in bed, sleeping soundly - or so we thought - by 8:30 p.m.
Engrossed in the Sugar Bowl, my husband suddenly heard a noise (amazing!).
“I think she’s crying,” he said, turning the TV down.
I listened, heard her little muffled cries, and like the good mom I am, remained seated in the recliner. “She’ll go back to sleep.”
Her cries though, increased in intensity and volume.
I sprang from my comfy seat and sprinted to her room, hurdling the deadly coffee table, rounding corners with precision; all the while thinking, “Oh-no! She must be sick! I hope there’s no puke to clean up!”
I braced myself for the worst only to find my daughter sitting up in her crib, struggling to move and crying in pain.
It took a minute for my eyes to register the fact that she was stuck. Somehow, she managed to get her leg wedged between the “safety slats” of her crib. And it wasn’t moving.
The more I pushed, wiggled and maneuvered her leg, the louder she cried.
After several tries to free her from the grasp of the crib, I began to panic. Did we have any Crisco? It works if you have a ring stuck on your finger, why not a leg stuck between crib slats? A saw maybe? How do I get her out of this one?
Thankfully, I didn’t have to. Daddy - always her hero - was able to wiggle her leg free from jaws of the crib.
But, because I was unable to, I was shunned and given the “you-did-not-save-me” slanty-eyed-glare from our tearful child.
It wasn’t the first time I was reminded she’s a Daddy’s Girl, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Maybe it’s time though, for a big-girl bed.
Contact this contributing writer at Motherhoodcolumn@yahoo.com or facebook.com/motherhoodCTC.
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