Our house is shrinking. Our kids eat and eat and eat and then wake up bigger, in a slightly smaller house. With five people in a 1,600 square foot ranch, there isn't much left over anymore.
We just bought bunk beds for the boys and replaced Alice's full bed with a (smaller, space saving) twin. A girly iron flowery twin.
On more than one occasion I have considered dismantling this room, putting Clark and Alice together and making this the baby room. It probably would have saved a lot of trouble over the last year. But I just can't take this space apart.
We met a tiny newborn baby girl named Alice today at Target. She was all snuggled up in her car seat while her mom paid in front of us. She even looked like my Alice did at that age, with black hair and a little pixie face. I picked my Alice up so she could see the baby better and though she didn't say anything, I can read her shy faces and could tell she felt special and connected, having the same name as the fresh pink bundle everyone was cooing over. I felt a few stabbing pangs of dissonance, of wanting my baby Alice back while also not wanting to give up my three year old Alice to the past or the future.
After we paid, my Alice cried because she didn't get to tell baby Alice goodbye, so I carried her all the way to the car and she hugged me so cuddly tight while I pushed the cart and she told me that my hugs are, "SO GOOD at helping to feel her better."
I made this room for her before I even saw her pixie face.
And yes, I keep adding to it and changing it. But the basic feeling is the same for me. And I just can't take it apart.
I know someday she'll have the walls covered in posters of Justin Timberlake, Jr or whatever.
But it's okay. Because the older she gets the better I get to know her.
I am so glad I get to know her.