Without fanfare and without tears, Phoebe slept in a big bed. It was no big deal. We tucked her in, reminded her of the rules, and then she slept. She and Lamby both fell out a few times the first night, but even that wasn't an issue. The next day, naptime crept up. And while I feared that our wonderful naps would disappear with the appearance of a big bed, those fears were for naught. Phoebe took a big girl, long-enough nap... and called when she woke up. And just like that, Phoebe is sleeping in a big girl bed.
We were at the beach with Michael's family, so all four of us were sharing a room. (Nora, praise the Lord, was in a closet in the pack and play.) When I came to bed the first night, Phoebe was stretched out, head on the pillow, arm tucked sweetly around Lamby. Her breathing was loud, and her curls were framing her sweet little face. And while she was there, laying in a big bed, I couldn't help but think how small she looked at the same time. She is big enough to sleep there, without any crib rails holding her in, yet small enough to cry when Lamby escapes her arms. Big enough to be there, and yet she barely took up any space in that gigantic-looking bed.
Two, so far, has been just that: a small girl doing big things. Two has been utterly delightful for us. Phoebe consistently surprises me with the big things she does and says. And yet, when she snuggles into my lap after a long day of play, or when she lays down sweetly for a diaper change, I am reminded that she is still so small.
I'm so thankful that this tiny little girl doesn't grow into a big one over night. In a bizarre way, she's growing mercifully slow... and yet, mercilessly fast. I blink, and she grows. But I'm terribly thankful that she won't be three for another fifty weeks or so. Perhaps I can keep her small a little longer?