My son is four months, almost four and a half months, old. Tonight is the first night he is sleeping in his very own room.
People have laughed, kidded and probably scoffed at my (definitely not our) decision to keep Henry in our room as long as we did. At first, he was in his sweet bassinet. The same one I slept in 34 years ago, almost to the day. But Henry kept growing and growing (imagine that). My husband would call from work and say, “Woman, Henry is TOO big for that bassinet!” I’d just shrug (can you do that over the phone?). When the babysitter mentioned that she put him to sleep in the bassinet but that maybe he was too big for it, I knew it was time for a change.
My husband cheered.
Slow down, sweetheart.
Thanks to a genius suggestion from my mother-in-law, I moved Henry out of the bassinet and into the pack-n-play…in our room. I wanted, needed, craved having my sweet baby boy sleep in the same room with me. I wanted to hear all of his sounds, grunts, thwaps (he’s a thrasher already. Sorry to the future Mrs. Or Mr. Henry). I wanted to hear them real time and not over the crackly monitor. I wanted to inhale, his sweet, sweet smell. So he stayed. And I was in heaven.
Both my best friend and my sister-in-law suggested that maybe I wanted the baby in our room since my husband travels a lot. Nope.
It’s because in my mommy gut, I knew I wanted and needed him right there. So there he stayed.
Until tonight. That little baby boy, just four months and change out of my womb, is sleeping in his own room. And falling asleep rather gracefully. A first of many firsts and partings. Small at first and then gaping. The chasm will grow and grow until he’s an adult living his very own life. But I’m getting ahead of myself—for now, I’ll cherish the short 12 foot trip, down the hall, to his room. I just took the trip and found him sleeping peacefully. I traveled back with a tear in my eye.
My heart broke a little bit with this big move, but luckily Henry will fill that break with a smile and coo.