(I’d insert a photo of the crib, but I’m too embarrassed.)
We didn’t buy a crib because *I* wanted one.
From the beginning, I was really into the idea of bed sharing or co-sleeping. Largely frowned upon by American researchers and raved about by the whole rest of the world, I didn’t need much convincing about the benefits of co-sleeping; they’re fairly obvious.
But Francisco was worried he’d roll over on Mariel in the middle of the night and so in the bed sharing debate it was a draw: one for, one against. I let him trump me for a couple simple reasons: (1) To try to sleep worrying that you’re going to roll over on your child isn’t a pleasant way to try to get some rest and (2) as new parents, we needed all the rest we’d be able to get.
So I capitulated with relative ease and we bought a crib. Not that Mariel has slept in it. After a couple of naps with Mariel, Francisco decided that co-sleeping wasn’t quite as terrifying as he’d anticipated and we’ve settled into a sleeping routine that’s mostly comfortable for everyone.
We’ve put Mariel in the crib a couple times, to useless effect. Appearing sound asleep, we’ve bent over and gently placed her in the crib. Two minutes later, she’s wide eyed and crying… and this is not a crying baby.
So last week when we came home from South Carolina and needed a place to store the clothes we’ve just been moving from one pile to another (from behind the bedroom closet door to the top of the laundry basket and a few other hiding spots), we just gave in and started using the crib… as a bureau.