For the most part, Owen is a long, lean string bean. Since the day he was born he has been on the high end of the percentiles in height and the low end for weight (despite the enormous amounts of food and milk he gobbles almost every day).
He must have a long torso, though, because I’m beginning to think he got my legs. Which are NOT long OR lean. I’m 5’1″ and I have, uhhh, strong legs. That’s right, we’ll call them strong. Sturdy. Powerful. Even as a relatively thin little guy, Owen has his Mama’s substantial thighs. Delicious, squeezable, begging-to-be-grabbed thunder thighs. I adore them (more on him than on myself!).
Last night Owen was pretty wound up at bedtime. I have had a crazy schedule this week rushing from work to home and home to work, and we haven’t had the calm playtimes and leisurely mornings that we normally do. Owen and I were both a bit wired at bedtime and we had a silly evening with lots of giggling and refusing to sit in the bathtub and trying to climb off the changing table and turning the pages of his board book with his teeth and shaking his bottle so milk splashed everywhere and sticking his fingers up my nose while I tried to cuddle him before bed. When I put him in his crib he sat upright and kept saying “Hi! Hi. Hi? Hi.” instead of curling up with his lovey and falling asleep immediately like he normally does. I turned off the light and said goodnight and figured he would babble himself to sleep.
A few minutes later I heard a whine. Then a cry. It sounded like something was bothering him and I wished I had given him Ibuprofen for those darn teeth that are still working their way through.
After just a few short minutes of fussing he fell asleep. Normally once that happens I won’t hear a peep until morning. But last night I heard more fussing around 7:45pm. And then 8:15pm. Each only for a minute or two, but it was an uncomfortable cry and again I cursed myself for not giving him preventative meds before bed.
Finally at 8:45pm when I heard him again, I dashed up the stairs, medicine dropper in hand. I shhed him and quietly entered his room.
I wish I could have taken a picture of what I saw.
Owen had stuck his adorably pudgy legs through the slats on his crib and his thunder thighs were STUCK. His little feet dangled out of the crib and he was trying his best to sleep on his back. I tried to push his legs back through but had to slowly loosen them first. I picked him up to cuddle him and he was already asleep in my arms, reaching for his bed.
POOR BABY! Those thunder thighs are a liability, apparently.
Thank goodness for the recent safety regulations that require crib slats to be a certain distance apart or else he could have gotten seriously stuck and/or landed on the floor! I bet he was trying to climb up the crib slats the way he tries to climb through our baby gate. He sticks both feet and his arms through the rails and tries to grab things on the other side. I’m going to hope this was a fluke and not an indicator that Owen is going to be one of those monkeys who climbs out of his crib and we have to switch to a toddler bed super early.
We’re I’m not ready for that!
Did your baby ever climb out of the crib? How old were they? What did you do?