Moving into big-kid beds and embracing what it means

11-20-13 (1:47 p.m.): We had our first parent-teacher meeting of the year with our kids’ preschool teacher, and everything went well. The kids got glowing reviews.

Great news, obviously. But Ms. RM also mentioned that we might want to split up the twins into different classrooms next year when they start pre-K. It’ll be better for them, she said, and she nodded her head solemnly when she declared her opinion.

It might be the best move indeed, and if we follow that route, it’s just another sign that the kids are growing up, away from us as parents and away from each other toward individuality. A step toward their own sense of freedom, where they can open their arms wide to embrace all that’s ahead.

Coincidentally, today is the day the twins’ full-size beds were delivered. One white bed and dresser for Stella in her purple-walled room. One brown bed and dresser for Noah in his blue-painted dwelling.

I spent the late morning disassembling their cribs/toddler beds — a sadder activity than I might have originally thought — and the movers just left. In their wake, they’ve left behind the beds that the kids might use until they leave us for college.

The kids will leave their shared room after 3 1/2 year and finally have some semblance of privacy — something they’ve been talking about lately when they have to use the potty. But do they truly want it? During the past few months, we’ve built up Stella’s impending move from their room into what will become her room. They seem excited to think about the future.

But I worry a little about Noah and how he’ll feel when Stella is no longer there. I wonder if Stella will be bothered by the wind howling that occurs outside her window without the comfort of her brother nearby. I worry if they’ll miss each other and want to rewind to the past. Because, throughout their lives, all they’ve done is share space. A bedroom, a bath, a corner in the NICU, a womb.

Will they find their new independence a pleasure? Or will they be pained by the absence of the person to whom they’re the closest?

Sometimes in our rush to get older we forget that it means leaving behind the people who have loved us all along. Even if they’re just a few feet away, behind a closed door, in the next room.

UPDATE 7:40 p.m.: The kids just discovered their new beds. They are ultra-excited, even though Stella admonished Noah from climbing up on hers.

UPDATE 10:12 p.m.: Usually, the twins will emerge from their bed a few times a night, asking for water or for another hug or for snuggles. We’ve tried to put a stop to that for the past few months with varying degrees of success.

Tonight, Noah hopped off his bed once, trotted into the office and said he wanted to kiss me on the cheek. He did and he bounced back into his room. That’s all we heard from them.

I just checked on the two, and both are in the exact same position — on their back and with arms spread wide. No longer are they bound by the width of their toddler bed. Now, they can spread out and embrace the unknown future. They are no longer stifled by their shared space.

They are now toddlers in big-kid beds, and they are free.