We didn’t discuss it, really.
I mentioned it was long past time.
Then they did it with no fanfare.
I was working out, while he and the kids converted her crib.
She’s so proud of her “toddwer bed.”
It was only after they made the change that we realized the significance.
Not just that she is unrestrained.
Practically, speaking, that happened months before the front rail came off.
We were lucky that she stayed where she was.
She didn’t have to—and she knew that.
The freedom of movement isn’t the issue.
But the lack of a proper crib is.
It was one of the last trappings of her babyhood.
She’s long left the “pack and play” and the high chair, the exercauser and the swing.
The infant car seat is packed away in a closet downstairs.
The stroller still lives in the back of my car, but I’m not sure why.
She doesn’t ride in it anymore.
Her brother may call her “Baby,” but she isn’t one any longer.
Somewhere along the way, in the fog and insanity that is life with small children, somehow, she stopped being a baby.
I don’t think I missed it, exactly.
But I’m not sure I really realized it.
I love to see her grow.
To watch her run.
To listen to their games.
To hear her share her thoughts.
But when did she stop being my baby?