The One where the boy moves out...

Hubby was away on business Thursday (the business of going to a leaving do for someone at work but still important social networking up in the smoke don't ya know - hmmm). Me, the boy and Oscar slept fine. I had none of the histrionics of previous evenings that week when it came to bedtime (I blame the jabs) and an unbroken nights sleep was enjoyed by all.

Little did I know it was to be our last together!

Hubby arrived home Friday after work and after hugs and kisses all round (and that was just for Oscar) he asked "So we've putting him in his own room tonight then?".

We'd talked about it. We'd talked about it a lot. When the boy was thrashing and wailing and looking highly uncomfortable in his moses basket we talked of little else but it was always something we were going to do, "We're putting him in his own room soon" I'd say. Never an actual time scale on it, just soon.

But last Friday, before I knew it bedtime came and there he was in his cot, looking small and helpless and vulnerable again like the first night in hospital after I'd had him.

Of course he wasn't helpless or vulnerable at all, he was happy as a pig in the preverbal and as for being small that was just a sense of scale from moses basket to big old cot bed.

So of course he settled fine and slept right through!

I of course was up every two hours checking he was ok!