Dear Nash,
I just went in to check on you and felt a lump rise in my throat. You are sleeping on a twin mattress on the floor of your room. You are under a sheet and a blanket, with your head resting on a pillow. You are surrounded by hard plastic dinosaurs, a water cup, and a pacifier. What, you might ask, could cause this emotion in me? Son, you are growing too quickly.
After a trying few days, you have made it known that you have a voice in this house. We are still your parents and are trying to find ways to accommodate you. But, by climbing out of your crib, lightening fast, by the way, you mandated that a big boy bed was in order. I haven't even had a chance to order bedding or pick a bed frame. These are your terms.
Sweet boy, you are no longer a baby. You are a little boy. And I love you.
Sweet dreams,
Mom
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