Knock, Knock! Bang, Bang!

Brandon started trying to climb out of his crib a couple of months ago, so we decided it was time to move him out of his crib and into a toddler bed. He was only about eighteen months old at the time, but both Kyle and Natalie moved out of the crib around the same age because we needed the crib. I swore that Brandon would be allowed to stay in the crib until he was three because I wasn't anticipating needing it for another baby, but once he started climbing I wasn't comfortable letting him learn to scale the side of the crib and jump to the floor.

Kyle and Natalie transitioned from crib to bed almost seamlessly. It was almost as if they didn't realize they weren't in a crib any more. Kyle was three and a half before he'd even get out of his full-size bed without me coming to get him in the morning or after naps. Natalie has only started getting out of bed on her own within the last few months. From the time of transition all it took to keep them in the bed was one look from me (you know the look--the one I wish I could bottle and sell), a finger-point, and a stern, "Don't get out of bed." They never got out of their beds. They didn't have the nerve.

Enter Brandon. My easy baby. The Best Baby Ever. The miracle that has been sleeping like a pro since birth. The child that rarely needs discipline because he's so easy-going and because the 'bad stuff' he does pales in comparison to what his brother and sister are up to.

Guess what happens when the good baby turns toddler? He thinks he can get away with murder! Why? Because he's not afraid of me! And what happens when you put this fearless toddler in a toddler bed? He gets right back out of the bed and starts banging on the bedroom door when you tell him sternly, "Don't get out of bed."

Every night we escort Brandon to his bed, tuck him in with his two Winnie the Poohs, turn off the lights, walk out of the room, and shut the door. Less than five seconds later we'll hear a little voice yell, "Knock, knock!!" followed by bang, bang, bang, bang. What's that banging, you ask? Only the sound of my little angel slamming his feet into his door repeatedly while he lays on the floor yelling, "Knock, knock! Daddy, where are you?! Mommy, where are you?! Knock, knock!"

For awhile we'd go back into Brandon's room and walk him back to bed to have the entire scenario repeat itself. But we're not third-time parents for nothing. Now we ignore him. The knocking and banging only lasts for about three minutes before Brandon either falls asleep on the floor behind his door or walks himself back to bed and falls asleep there. We have to remind ourselves to be careful when we check on Brandon before we go to bed because we've opened the bedroom door a handful of times to find him wedged right up against the door.

It could be much worse than it is. Brandon could have given up going to bed entirely. At least he still goes to bed and sleeps all night. He could spend hours at night crying or getting out of bed to play with toys, but he doesn't. It's not very amusing to be awoken at 6:30 AM by a loud bang, bang, bang noise, but he'd be awake at 6:30 anyway, crib or toddler bed.

However, Shaun and I are still mildly horrified that The Best Baby Ever is turning into a tyrant. I think perhaps we've been spoiled by how easy Brandon has been up to this point. We expected him to have the easiest transition to a bed of all our kids. The control freak in me struggles with the long-term effects of allowing Brandon to think he can just fall asleep banging on his bedroom door. What kind of message does that send? Certainly not the same 'Mommy is in charge' message that Kyle and Natalie seem to quite clearly grasp. But the experienced mother in me knows that I need to pick my battles, and who cares if Brandon is sleeping on the floor as long as he's sleeping--and more importantly, as long as I'm sleeping?

The bottom line is that my third child is turning into your typical 'baby of the family'. He gets away with murder. We all smile and laugh as he commits his crime. And I'm going to totally let him get away with it because he's my baby.

I'm afraid to even imagine what potty-training is going to be like.