Kid Amnesiac

“Munchausen syndrome is a type of mental illness, in which a person repeatedly acts as if he or she has a physical or mental disorder when, in truth, they have caused the symptoms. People with Munchausen Syndrome act this way because of an inner need to be seen as ill or injured in order to get the sympathy and special attention given to people who are truly ill.”

– adapted from the Cleveland Clinic Website

I think Simon is afflicted. I’m sure it’s not that uncommon, but he has two new “games”. One is to fake fall, look up at me (or whomever else he wants attention from) with Bambi eyes, and say rather cheerfully, “I fall down.” Then I say “Oh, no little boy! Do you need help?” And he replies, even more cheerfully and usually with a series of head nods, “Yeah!” I then help him to his feet, give him a big hug, and watch on in amusement and he runs a few steps, twists his legs, and spirals down to the floor, always with a hand down to catch himself. One mustn’t run the risk of actually hurting oneself when pretending to hurt oneself.

His other game isn’t so funny, as it involves actual injury. We’ll call it plaintive for now. It’s summer, and Simon is trying all sorts of new activities. He’s running faster, trying to climb more things, and is generally outside much more than he was in the winter. He’s also wearing shorts and short-sleeve tees, so the physical evidence of these adventures is writ on his scabbed, bruised, mosquito-bitten arms and legs. Truth be told, he looks a mess.

Toddler obsessive-compulsive that he is, he notices all these little marks and they bother him. “I have a little scrap,” he’ll say, while pointing to the injury. (Not a typo, he pronounces it “scrap” not “scrape”.) Or, “I have a little scratch.” Or, “I have a little bruise.” Each sighting is as though the injury just happened and requires attention from us, usually in the form of a kiss.

Except for two days ago, when he pointed to his scraped knee and declared:

“I broke my knee. I need go see Dr. Kawen.”

Poor Doctor Newstadt. Simon never wanted to fake or exaggerate an injury to go see him. As well, I think that if over two months after his checkup Simon is still talking about Dr. [Karen] Abrams in such a favorable way, then we really should begin seeing her as our primary. Of course, then we are substituting one bad lesson (Going to the doctor is scary!) for another (Let’s fake being sick to go see the pretty, nice doctor!).  I’ll just go with the bad lesson that results in the least amount of screaming in the office.

It is amazing how much context determines our perception of the size of things.

Simon is now asleep in his big-boy bed upsatirs. His crib is now broken down and leaning against a wall in our guest bedroom.

Tonight, as I tucked him into bed and turned off the light, I was amazed by two things: how much bigger his room looks without the tall sides of the crib and the glider in it; and how much smaller he looks tucked into a twin-sized bed.

Word heard last night, around midnight, amid muffled cries during regular partial awakening: “Scary.”

Words heard first thing this morning, at his regular 7:30 wake-up time:  “Daddy! Where are you?”

Number of times we heard pitter-pat of little feet in-between: Zero

Number of times Percy has napped on Simon’s bed: Twice

Words spoken to Matt about big-boy bed this morning: “Big boy bed is great.”

Day crib gets disassembled and hauled out: Today!

Matt and I have been planning on moving Simon to his big-boy bed for a couple of months now. We ordered it in April, and it arrived in Kiddie Kastle’s warehouse last week. Since then, we have had a single mission: to prepare Simon for the change so he won’t freak out.

Therefore, we have talked about the big boy bed every night, shown him a picture of the bed we ordered every night, and even spent some time on the trundle in our guest bedroom to get him used to the size and feel. To add to the appeal, I ordered a really cute quilt with cars, buses, trucks, and helicopters appliquéd to it, and even sprung for the matching sham. (Note that I have never been willing to pay for a separate sham myself; I only have matching shams now because my new quilt—found at a discount house—came packaged with one.)

Today was the designated day to make the big move. This afternoon I took the glider to my mom’s house to make room for the bed, and I rolled up the stained area rug and got rid of it, too.* The bed itself arrived this afternoon, and by 7:00 p.m. it was fully assembled and ready to go. I put up a side rail for added security (not pictured), and I even lined up some Montgomery Schoolhouse cars on the headboard to add to the appeal. My goal was to make the new bed so enticing that Simon would take one look at it and fall in love.

Big Boy Bed in situ

Matt thought he’d love it and do fine. I feared was he would take one look at it and shriek in horror. It turns out we were both right. It also turns out we were both wrong.

So what did Simon say when he saw his new bed, purchased and planned for so lovingly by his parents?

I no like my new bed. I no like it! Big bed scary.

And then he proceeded to pick up every stuffed friend he has—Super Speedy the frog, Annabel the lamb, Dirty Dog, Dirty Dog’s Twin, Funny Monkey, Baby Bunny and Baby Bob—and move them one by one to “his bed”, AKA the crib.

Feeling defeated, we moved on to his bath. There was a splashing incident, some harsh words spoken, an accidental dunking, and much screaming. Really, the less said the better. By the time tears were dried and pajamas put on, it was a bit after 8:00 p.m. and Simon was shot. My notion was to read to Simon in his new bed, then put him down in his crib. Matt’s notion was to move the crib out of the room, read to Simon in his new bed, and then tuck him in for the night.

And that’s when we realized that until we disassemble the crib, there was no getting it into our guest bedroom. It won’t fit through the door. Sigh.

To my way of thinking, the notion of trying to tuck a tired and change-resistant  child into his new and “scary” bed when he could look right over at his old, comforting, and beloved one was madness, if not outright child abuse. Thankfully, Matt is made of stronger stuff.

It is true that when we went to put Simon on his bed he screamed and thrashed and cried. It is also true that by the time we were half-way through our first of four readings of Kitten’s First Full Moon, he had calmed down. And, amazingly, it is true that when we went to tuck him in and say goodnight, Simon offered but a brief protest before Matt assured him he’d be fine in his big-boy bed, offered him a wooden toy car or two as a balm, laid his familiar Aunt Marcia blanket over his legs, and offered to lie down beside him.

Simon kicked him out. He didn’t want Matt in the bed; he just wanted to “go sleepy.” That’s my boy!

And so, we reach another milestone.

Goodbye glider that made nursing and calming a baby infinitely easier.

Goodbye gender neutral nursery that I planned for “Baby Whozit”.

Goodbye maple sleigh crib, soon to go to a family in need.

The Well-Loved Crib

Goodbye velvet and toile crib bumpers that reminded me of the Wind in the Willows and made me smile.

Froggie Bumpers

Goodbye to the baby who slumbered within.

Goodnight to the little boy I tucked into bed tonight.

And, please God, may he sleep through the night.

*About that area rug… I ordered this cream botanical rug because it fit so very well with my nursery. “Cream?!” my mother asked with raised brow. “For a baby’s room?” “But Mom,” I assured her, “according to the catalogue, it’s stain resistant and perfect for high traffic areas. It’ll be fine.” “Hmph” came her not too enthusiastic reply, accompanied by a certain twist to her mouth that indicates she remains unconvinced. It was, in fact, an uncleanable mess within weeks. She was right, and I wish I would have listened to her.