The Escape Artist

I had been waiting for this day since the day we moved Animal from his bassinet to a crib.

I had been waiting for the morning, or night, that we found him wandering around his room, instead of in his crib where we left him. 

All children do this eventually right? I've seen it in movies and TV shows, and you know what? It's way cuter when it's not your kid, but I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty fucking cute. 

Still adorableness aside, I don't want him wandering around his room when we can't watch him. 

You know those Martha Stewart moms, who's houses are immaculate? 

The children's rooms are perfectly decorated and no sharp corners are left exposed? The decor is color coordinated and they hand made all the wall art?  I'm not that mom.  I'm crafty, the hubby's an artist, but we are the biggest procrastinators. 

Before Animal, his bedroom was our catch all room. It was also our art/craft room. All the hubbies art supplies, a large table, futon, my scrap booking supplies and everything we ever bought that we didn't know where to put just yet, were housed in that room. Oh and it was filled to the brim. It looked like an Episode of Hoarders in there, minus the pizza boxes, bottles of wine and dead pets and/or rats. That room is what gave our home some semblance of tidiness. 

Literally the weekend before he was born we boxed up our Hoarders episode and moved it into it's new home, the garage. 

His room has furniture we want out and/or is not safe for a toddler. Like a full size futon. Boxes of clothes, to sell, to keep and to donate. Books, not just his board books on his shelf but art books, dictionary's, anatomy, scrap books, and his dad's sketchbooks. There's a metal easel, The outlets are covered, but Animal either has a death wish or really wants to be electrocuted, he's always trying to get to the plugs to do God knows what.

Anyway, one night we tuck Animal in for bed as usual. There is silence coming from his room. We feel safe that he's down for the night. I open a bottle of vodka and pull out the laptop. We here a little cry, wonder if something woke him up. 

Silence. 

I keep drinking. The hubby decides to jump in the shower. He heads down the hall. He comes back a little later and says, "this guy has torn his bed to shreds, I can hear him in there. I'm going in." I raise my glass and say, "Okay". 

The next thing I know the hubby shouts for me. I panic, we don't talk when we go into his room so I imagine the worst; Animal covered in shit that he dug out from his own diaper smeared all over the crib and himself. 

What I see when I get there is my son standing in the middle of the room, clothes, blankets, and wipes strewn all around the carpet. The wipes box in one hand and a wipey in the other. An impish grin on his face, and a gleam in his eyes. 

His dad picked him up and checked his diaper. In the meantime I picked up the wipes. Threw the clothes in a drawer and got is bed ready again. I walked out. The hubby tucked him back in and walked out.

After he shut the door the hubby said, "Well you knew this day would come". I said I did. He was nearly 20 months old, it was about time. I was proud of him in a way. He was a little person, more and more each day. Doing what his heart desired. Being a little rebel. I only wish I could know what he was thinking and watch it happen. 

The thing is, his room is not roam free territory, but it needs to be. We listened at the door.  He climbed out 4 more times that night. Each time we went in, didn't say a word and put him back in his crib. It took about 45 minutes after that first time before he stayed in bed and finally fell asleep. 

The following night we did the same, only we were misjudging and were going in before he actually climbed out. We decided to buy a video monitor on day three. 

Guess what? The little fucker went right to bed. We walked out, turned on our expensive little toy and that little punk didn't even move. Just closed his eyes and went right to sleep!