Steve and I have recently decided that Brigid is now of the age where we should start thinking about moving her out of her crib and into a 'big girl bed'.
(And by age, of course, I mean weight. I am old, ok? My back can't handle that kind of heavy lifting all of the time...)
Unfortunately, we made the mistake of mentioning this move to her last night...which...yeah...I know, I know.
Rookie mistake, right there.
She immediately started taking things out of her crib, with every intention of moving into the queen bed in the spare bedroom across the bathroom from her nursery, because much like her father (and, fine, her mother, too...), when she gets an idea in her head, she wants to act on it, RIGHT THIS MINUTE.
When we had to tell her it would take a few days before we were ready to give up the crib, she dropped her head in (what seemed like, according to her) the most anguished disappointment, ever, and started crying.
Really. We are terrible, terrible, TERRIBLE parents.
(That must be the answer, right? Because it's not like my child to ever over-react to anything...)
I can't wait to see what we get when we tell her we're not painting her bedroom yellow, like she's been requesting over and over and over again. Maybe I'll record it for you guys...it might end up being a performance for the ages, right there.