Yes, my son Samuel is a flying trapeze artist. Yesterday morning, my husband reported finding him on the floor closer to the dresser than he was to the crib. This means that not only did he fall to the floor, but he actually took a flying leap of faith, trusting he would somehow be ok when he got to the bottom. I thinks he's made of steel sometimes.

Despite this thought of his make-up I was immediately convinced that he should move into a bed. I could not fathom giving him another chance to perform death-defying leaps. My husband and his mother (and probably most other people would agree with them) both said that we should try him in the crib again before the bed trials began. I held fast and we went to get the bed anyway.

After an exhausting afternoon of Samuel wanting nothing to do with his beautiful new bed and a nap on the couch, we gave the bed another try. To no avail. So, put him in the crib then! He'll get used to the bed eventually right? Nope. After hearing the dull thud of my baby hitting the ground again, I resolutely promised myself to never put him in there again.

It was either my soothing story-reading voice, the jolt to his noggin, or his complete exhaustion that let him have the decency to fall asleep on his little bed around 9:00. Then wake up at 4:30. But that's another story.