Most mornings, I rely on the gentle stirrings of my children to wake up. On a recent morning, I heard my daughter begin to wake, so I headed to her room. To my surprise, she was already halfway over the crib railing, one leg dangling perilously while the other was poised on her tiptoes. It hit me: we needed to upgrade her big brother’s bed this weekend so she could inherit his toddler bed. She clearly wasn’t going to wait for us much longer.
Reflecting on that moment, it was clear she had outgrown her crib. Later that day, I placed her in for a nap and listened for the usual babbling over the monitor. Instead, an hour passed, and I was jolted by her frantic cries. Rushing in, I found her with one leg stuck between the slats, having lost her balance.
Attempting to maneuver her leg free proved fruitless; her baby chub had wedged it firmly in place, leaving her crying and frustrated. I called for my son to fetch my phone, but instead of concern, he declared he couldn’t concentrate with all the noise. Classic four-year-old empathy, right?
I explained the situation to him and asked him to gather some comforts for his sister. He returned with a miniature chair, which I hoped would provide her some relief while I attempted to free her. My call to my husband went straight to voicemail, leaving me in a bind.
In a moment of panic, I remembered my in-laws lived nearby. I hastily called my father-in-law, urgently requesting an Allen wrench to disassemble the crib. Meanwhile, my son, ever the dramatic, brought me snacks and water for his sister, including an entire jar of applesauce, making me chuckle amidst the chaos.
Upon their arrival, it quickly became evident that the Allen wrench wouldn’t suffice. The crib’s design was stubborn, and I realized we would need to cut her out. In hindsight, I should’ve gathered my neighbors’ contact information when we moved in. Instead, I sprinted to the house next door, explaining my daughter’s predicament with more panic than necessary.
My neighbor, a talented woodworker, was all too happy to help. As she plugged in her jigsaw, my son narrated the plot of his cartoon, oblivious to the urgency of the situation. After a few tense moments, the saw cut through the slat, and with a gentle twist, we freed her leg. As I lifted her out, I could feel the blood circulating back into her limb.
We had been fortunate with my son, who never attempted to escape his crib. When my daughter was born, we transitioned him to a toddler bed to avoid jealousy. Had it not been for her arrival, he might still be in the crib, likely until his teenage years.
This experience underscored the need for timely transitions; we should have moved our daughter sooner. We are now better prepared for emergencies, with neighbors’ phone numbers saved, a landline installed for urgent situations, and a mattress on the floor where our daughter sleeps soundly.
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In summary, don’t wait for your toddler to attempt their own escape from the crib; act proactively to ensure their safety and comfort.
Keyphrase: toddler crib transition
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