I have to say, I feel a little like Indiana Jones right now, having just successfully transitioned my 11 week old from the rocking chair to the bed. Every time I do this I can’t help but think of Dr. Jones stealthily switching the sandbag for the priceless artifact. Every move is carefully measured and the slightest misjudgement could spring the need-booby trap. And I hate it when Mom has to come in and save the day! (Who does she think she is anyway, Laura Croft?) And we all know sometimes even the most skillful transition can end in a tearful disaster.
I know I’ve traded a life of travel and all-night rollicking for a life of all-night rocking and swaddling. But sitting here knowing I successfully got my little one to sleep makes feel like I just made off with the Lost Ark and somehow managed to keep my hat on.