M moved out of our room and into her own 'Big Girl' bed on Saturday night.  I expected her to cry out long and hard against this injustice.  After all, we've been Crazy Hippie Freaks cosleeping since she was born, and she has always struggled to fall asleep alone.   I was sure she would climb out of bed,  rattle the baby-proof gate, demanding that Mama and Aba take her back to bed with them, until, inevitably one of us caved in.  But,  after she lined up all her stuffed animal friends at the foot of her new bed,and leafed through her favorite book, she put her curly head on the pillow, and drifted off to sleep.  Shocked, I tiptoed out of the room, held my breath for the next three hours, waiting, waiting, waiting for her to wake up and wail.   But, for the last three nights, (cue extra-sad rendition of 'Sunrise Sunset' from Fiddler on the Roof,) the only tears shed have been (sniff sniff) mine.

She's gotten so big - Her steps have measure and purpose.  She holds a pen in her dainty fingers and draws: "Balloon!"  She says pointing proudly to a series of scribbles on the page.  "Balloon."  She repeats, handing me her picture.  She pours make-believe tea from her new tea set, and hands me a cup:  "Mama?  Tea?"  And she smiles when I thank her.  


But still, I want to ask this long-legged little lady,  "Who are you, and what did you do with my baby?"

But even I knew it was time for her to sleep on her own.  M was growing, but our bed wasn't.  Each morning, B would wake up pressed against the chilly wall, and Little Homie and I would find ourselves crammed against the cosleeper.  Meanwhile, M would lie sprawled across the center of the bed, her arms and legs splayed like a star.

But now, our bed seems too big.  I'm not used to sleeping next to my husband - to feeling his long, lean body pressed against mine.  I had forgotten the way his skin smells during sleep, and the way his arm hairs tickle my nose when he holds me.  So I guess there are some perks.