Quiet. Too quiet.

We have come to a terrible conclusion... I can hardly say it, it feels so wrong. But it's our only choice. It's the only way. The only way he can be safe, the only way we can get some sleep at night.

(And just to be clear, we need sleep. We desperately need sleep. We. Need. Sleep!)

What we have concluded is this: We must lock Little Blue Eyes in his room at night.

I hate it. And I love it. I hate it because it feels so wrong to lock him up, our little boy, like a little caged animal. But I love it because I know that he's 10x safer -- no, make that 100x -- than the alternative... Him wandering around the house while we are asleep.  

I feel that you need a little background information at this point... For the first 22 months of his life, Little Blue Eyes was the most optimal of sleepers. He almost always slept through the night, he usually cried only if there was something wrong, and from about 10 months on, he slept in his own room like a little trooper. Also, he took, and still sometimes takes, two naps a day.

He is now about 25 months old. Although he is still pretty good about bedtime and naptime, things have changed... A few months back, he figured out how to climb out of his crib. This was a little bit unsettling, but since he stayed in it during the night, all seemed to be well, for the most part.

Then, about three weeks ago, he made the decision that he was ready to start sleeping in his 'big bed'. It was endearing, it was heartbreaking. I was so proud of him for taking such a big step, all of his own free will, but I was a little bit sad... My baby boy was growing up. And all without my permission.

I guess I might as well get used to it.

At first, this seemed to be going well. But then he realized something... He realized that he could get up and out of bed, all too easily, and roam throughout the house.

In the beginning he pretty much just came into our room and came to one of us right away. Don't get me wrong, it was worrisome that he was walking through the house while we were sleeping. But at least he was only coming directly to us, or so I assume.

Then he started to be a little more brave... One night at 4 a.m. we heard the television on in our living room and my husband found him watching t.v. A week or so later I again found him watching television at about 10 p.m.

This was making me nervous. And I don't need to be nervous. I'm not good at it. And I think I have a weak nervous system to begin with. So it was making me way too agitated.

Did I mention that Miss Peaches wakes up at least twice every night to have a little snack?

The combination of her waking and his waking was just too much. I repeat: We. Need. Sleep! At least a little bit!

Then, a few nights ago, my husband put Little Blue Eyes to bed and he just kept getting up. My husband kept putting him down and he just kept getting up. Finally he stayed down. Then, at about midnight, I heard something in our room. I sat up in bed and looked around and saw Little Blue Eyes playing with some hangers that were hanging on my closet door.

Ahhhhhhh! That's what my inner voice said.

My wonderful husband took him back to his room and was going to sleep there with him the rest of the night. He said he would close the door to his room so that if Little Blue Eyes slipped out of bed without him noticing, at least he would hear the door open.

However, at 2 a.m. I thought I heard something in the kitchen. I thought, "Surely it can't be him. He's got to be sound asleep by now and my wonderful husband is in there with him. It must be the cat." But the cat rarely gets into things in the kitchen or elsewhere. So I got up to check it out.

I scanned the counters and floors with my half-blind-without-focal-correction eyes and saw nothing... No cat, sound asleep dogs, and nothing else. Was I going crazy?

Then I looked behind one of the counters where our desk is positioned and there he was... Little Blue Eyes perched on top of the desk, playing with a cup of pens. During the day, getting at those pens -- those pens that he knows he's not supposed to play with -- is one of his favorite activities, so it only made sense that he was now using his nighttime freedom to get at them, but quick.

Ahhhhhh!!! My inner voice screamed again.

It was 2 a.m., and between him and Miss Peaches I'd already been up at least three times, maybe more. It's all a blur. All I knew was that: 1) We. Need. Sleep!; and 2) We were not getting any sleep!; and 3) Even though our house is relatively child proof, he finds things to get into while I'm awake and watching him like a hawk, so the myriad of things he might get into while unsupervised, in the still of the night, was totally freaking me out.

It makes my heartrate go up just thinking about it.

Anyhow, I returned him to his room and my wonderful husband, who was sound asleep and completely unaware of his absence. He threw a fit (Little Blue Eyes, not my husband) and cried himself to sleep and stayed that way until morning.

The next morning, quite punchy from no sleep and sub-zero temperatures on my way to church, I confided in one of the church ladies about the night before and how completely freaked out about it I was. I think I actually used the word 'freaked'. How un-churchladylike. What an unclassy word. But it is the best definition of what I was feeling, and I was too sleep-deprived to come up with anything more articulate.

She told me that her daughter and son-in-law had a similar problem and they ended up putting a lock on the outside of their daughter's door to keep her in her room. I had thought about this before, but again, in my state of sleep deprivation this solution did not come to the forefront of my hazy mind, so I was thankful for her suggestion.

Long story short... Oh wait, short story long? Is that what I'm doing here? I'll try to move it along...

That day we rounded up a hook & eye lock and put it on his door. The first night, my husband slept in there with him to help in the transition.

Was the one who needed support during this transition me or Little Blue Eyes? Um, it was me. He slept through the night.

So, last night was the second night of our new lock-down arrangement. My husband was back in bed with me, and we were back to being awakened by only one child during the night instead of both. All was right with the world again.

Things were quiet. Too quiet.

Then somewhere in the deep, dark hours of the night, I heard footsteps... I heard footsteps shuffling through quietly. I heard footsteps just like I'd been hearing those nights before.

What? How ON EARTH could he possibly undo the lock, on the outside of his door, from inside his room? Once again, on my insides... Completely, utterly, unashamedly... FREAKING out.

Then I looked around and saw this guy...

Oh. Huh. Whew. Silly me. And thank you, Jesus. Because, have I mentioned this... We. Need. Sleep! And knowing that we are one step closer to... Dare I say it... A full six our eight hours? Again, thank you Jesus.

And by the way, Little Blue Eyes slept through the night again, all on his own. And we slept just a little better -- other than the beagle mistaken for our child incident -- knowing that he was safe.