Yesterday, we bought the Noodle a new bed.
Because he was outgrowing the toddler bed.
Because we have a behemoth of a 2.5 year old.
I mostly don’t have any “oh my baby is growing up so fast” sadness about this particular move. Instead I have “DEAR LORD CHILD STOP GROWING WE CAN’T KEEP UP” sadness about this move. Seriously, I feel like we are constantly on this treadmill of trying to keep him in shoes, pants, shirts that fit…now we’re adding the bed?
I’m seriously afraid of his teenage years is what I’m saying.
It’s hard sometimes having such a big kid. People expect him to behave “better” than he does, because they see him and think he’s 3.5 or even 4.5, not 2.5. They shoot us looks when we carry him (oof, and he’s getting hard to carry!), or when he isn’t able to talk well, or when he’s throwing an epic Terrible Twos Tantrum.
But he is still just two and a half, and sometimes it boggles my mind that we’re already buying 4T and size 9 shoes. Or that he can reach every door, lock, and window in the house. Or that he’s almost too tall for the toddler bed.
The rest of the world may think he’s older than he is, but to me he’s still my little man.
Even if he is too big for his bed.
P.S. I totally lied. Seeing him in the big bed? Totally set off my mommy heart. We ended up with a full instead of a twin (long story, big bed), and now he looks so little. The swing from one extreme to another kind of caught my heart in my throat.