It may not be Halloween yet, but we’re having our fair share of thrills and chills at home. You see, RR has moved out of her crib. I KNOW. She’s three, you’re thinking, surely this is some sort of Skinner-esque crime.
But, as my wife says, she only just now has expressed any interest in getting into or out of her bed. It’s not that we haven’t wanted to move her, it’s more that the timing for a big change hasn’t been right since mid-summer. A new school and potty training did us in on the development front and ditching the nighttime pacifier and crib have taken a backseat. One thing at a time.
I was worried that a switch to a bed she could easily get in and out of would mean an end to sleeping in and marathon naps. I had forgotten to take into account RR’s base personality, however, which means she is a) content to stay in bed forever and b) generally disinclined to open doors to see what’s behind them. This weekend she spent several hours in her room at naptime and, as usual, we only went in after hearing her softly talking to herself. I found her happily playing with a train on the floor in her fireman rain boots.
In the mornings she is staying in her room until she hears us moving around. I’m not sure how long that will last now that she has figured out she can climb into our warm soft bed and snuggle with Debra before breakfast. Let’s get back to the point though, terror.
RR moves like a ninja. She doesn’t stampede or clatter through the house. She glides and wanders. This morning I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, shower warming and fan turned on. The background noise combined with RR’s silent creeping meant that I didn’t hear her crack open the bathroom door and peer at me, hair in every direction and squinting in the light. In fact, it wasn’t until the door bumped my shoulder (very small bathroom – another plus to only having one) and my heart leapt from my chest and into the bathroom sink where it cowered under a sheen of toothpaste spit, that I noticed her.
This is not the first time she has surprised me. But, because she’s so stealth and because this is all new (to us…to her), every time I unexpectedly see her grinning face, I have to do everything in power not to gasp holy shit! Instead, I have programmed in a casual hey sweetheart, I didn’t see you there. I hope she doesn’t always think I’m heart-stoppingly pale.
Add to the quiet-as-a-mouse door-opening tactics, some unexplained thumping (Wife: what was that? THUMP. Me: I don’t know…is it coming from the basement? THUMP. Wife: I don’t think so? THUMP. Me: Is it coming for us? THUMP. Wife: Maybe? RR: Jumping off the bed onto the floor, repeatedly) and some now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t corner of the eye flashes (Me: doing some in the bathroom lady-time. RR: opening the door long enough to peek and then shutting it just fast enough for me to hear the click, see the doorknob turn, and hear footsteps running down the hall.)
It’s paranormal activity around here, thanks to RR. Also, you’re probably a little creeped out yourself now. So here’s a unicorn chaser (where RR moving a pumpkin = unicorns):
By the way, the evil funhouse laughing in the background at the only soundtrack was unintentional. And supremely creepy.