Big Girl Bed. Big Girl Rules.

Sis has officially moved out of baby jail. Her crib got the glow-up into a toddler bed. Rails on three sides, small hand rail on the other so she doesn't roll onto the floor. Same furniture, new vibe. And she lives for it.

Her parents flipped it one weekend, and I swear it was like she got keys to her first apartment. Full freedom. No more “crib = baby jail.” She’s out with no parole. Now she can crawl in just to read, hide, or bounce like she’s hosting a rave for her stuffed animals. And months later? She's still flexing. “Hey, come look at my toddler bed” every week. Climbs in, grins like she invented it, and waits for applause. Proud as hell.

Back when she first made the switch, she mostly flexed her independence with me. I wasn’t hovering, I wasn’t panicking. I gave her space to just be. That was then. Now? She is running that big girl energy full-time. Doesn’t matter who is in the room- she's got opinions, plans, and her own agenda. Her room is set up for success-outlets covered, books stacked, puzzles on deck. Independence, but with bumpers.

The toddler bed was her first taste of freedom, and she hasn’t looked back.