I don't know what I was thinking. I got in one of those whirlwind moods yesterday and spun through Ethan's room with relentless, emotionless fervor. Baby toys are out. I packed up a storage box full of them.
I also did another round of toy box clearing, and since last time Ethan has managed to sneak in a bunch more of his Favorite Crap: the chewed up nub of an old Nylabone, two broken computer mouses (mice?), an almost-empty tube of hand lotion, various and sundry bits of paper and cardboard, a hairbrush, four toothbrushes, and the annihilated stuffed animal formerly known as Blue Cow. Where once there was a dopey, smiling cow visage there is now only fiberfill gruesomely fluffing out the face hole. (Cody is responsible. I'm not raising a sociopath.)
So after doing all that it suddenly made perfect sense to me to go ahead and convert the crib into the toddler bed. It was a combination of things, really. First, a friend in work is transitioning her little boy who's a couple months younger than Ethan into a Big Boy Bed in anticipation of his baby brother's arrival and need of a crib. Second, Ethan was measuring things yesterday and I decided to measure him, only to discover that he's just an inch shy of being Too Big according to crib safety regulations. Finally, I like to make transitions quick and pain
Something about Ethan pounding on the door crying after Noah tucked him in told me the timing was off. I tried to settle him on my lap on the couch, but there was something about That Dreadful Bed he just couldn't stand. I told him he could watch some TV with us, but he kept popping up to retrieve his stuffed animals (holding up index finger, saying "batte" [I'll be right back]) until they were all safely with him and not alone in That Dreadful Bed. So at 9 last night Noah and my Dad and Ethan deconverted the bed back into the crib.
He slept like a baby.