Kaitlyn is, by far, my most "physical" and, let's face it, assertive child. From very early on she could navigate stairs safely. And bossed her siblings around. She makes SURE her wishes are known (and doesn't always require words.) Her first words in fact were "no" and "iwanit" (or translated, "I want it.") She is a sweetie, but don't be fooled, this kid is also one tough cookie.
And at 19 months old, she has decided she's done with her crib. Done. D-O-N-E done.
Two weeks ago we'd put her down to sleep, and the next morning she'd somehow managed to heave herself over the side (the crib is at its lowest setting, too) to come happily wake us up. At 5 am. Over the next week or so, we kept putting her back in, but then she ended up with nasty bruises on her legs from her maneuvers to get out. Lovely.
So now she's sleeping on her crib mattress, on the floor in her sister's room. Wich equates to us putting her down for bed at night, only to make multiple trips back downstairs to put her back to bed. Because she keeps.getting.up.
But that's just Kaitlyn. And we say that a lot. To explain, for example, why when she tired of riding on the old-fashioned merry-go-round at the park, she just up and decided to fling herself off while it was still moving. And didn't really care. Just brushed herself off and dashed away to go conquer another part of her world.
Because the girl has ideas, and she's tough as nails. And I really, really love it.