I headed out tonight with every intention of buying Sophie a big girl bed. Her half birthday is tomorrow. It’s time.
OK, it’s years late, but I’m doing it, so lay off, conscience.
The only person who’s really shown any horror over the situation is Sophie’s long-time physical therapist, Dorcas. I love Dorcas. Last week in an email she correctly identified herself as Alpha Dorcas. In our pack, her word is gospel. That doesn’t mean I do everything she tells me to do immediately, but it does mean I wake up every morning fully intending to. And one of the things she’s been telling me to do for a LONG time now is get Sophie a bed.
So I found myself in the middle of Babies R Us. I’ve always hated that place. A lot. I remember my first visit well. I was very pregnant and practically swooned when I walked into that way-too-big, way-too-fluorescently-lit so-called superstore. It’s just too much.
Tonight I felt like an interloper, passing the maternity clothes, diapers (well, we do still use those — at night) and other accoutrement of babydom. I forget some days that I don’t really have a little one any more. But Babies R Us hit it home.
The bed thing is more complicated than I thought. I thought I’d buy a big sturdy bed with huge guard rails to keep Sophie from escaping and doing something dangerous like climbing on the toilet to reach a rickety glass shelf holding hair bands.
I envisioned many choices in this place, given how enormous it is, but maybe the selection is over at Toys R Us? They had three or four teeny tiny beds with teeny tiny railings at Babies R Us — and about a million cribs.
I walked out with one of those webbed guard rails you attach to a regular twin bed. That’s what my sister got for her kids, it’s what we did for Annabelle. I don’t think we even had a railing for Annabelle — just a bunch of comforters and pillows and maybe (yes, definitely) the crib mattress on the ground to break her potential fall. But Sophie’s different. As far as I’m concerned, she needs to be contained. That doesn’t mean I’m going to buy that mosquito netting people get, or keep her in the crib for several more years, though size-wise it wouldn’t be a problem. I’m going to get her out of the g-d crib, OK?
I’m just worried about it. But I’d made my decision: regular twin. So I shoved the rail into the back of the car and crossed the street to Target, where I invested in two sets of twin sheets with cute polka dots, and a matching comforter/sham set. I wasn’t sure where to buy a bed. They didn’t have any at Target. I passed a mattress store, but I wasn’t sure about that. I cruised by IKEA, but didn’t have the energy to stop. So I went to Trader Joe’s instead.
Then my sister called. “Did you find a bed?” she asked. I told her what had happened, and that I’d decided to do what she did. Turns out that’s NOT what she did. She went to a fancy kid furniture store and bought a special bed with built in rails. The webbed ones aren’t safe, she says.
I ran out of TJ’s (first securing a cartload of groceries) then skidded to a stop in front of the only fancy kid furniture store I know of in town, just minutes before 9 pm. Score, I thought.
Not. The place is out of business.
So now I have a carload of stuff to return and no bed.
But the best of intentions. Really. Meanwhile, Sophie sleeps peacefully — in her crib.