It started very innocently….a few comments here and there. Eleven-year-old daughter wasn’t really a fan of her loft bed.
The immediate backpedaling always went: “But I love the desk space!” She really did love the huge expanse of tabletop underneath. It’s the bump-your-head-on-the-ceiling bed she didn’t care for.
We’d changed from her regular bed to the loft bed when she was sharing a room with her foster sister. (There was a while, back in 2014, when I truly felt like there was no problem IKEA couldn’t solve.) Her double bed–part of the furniture set that I inherited from my grandmother when I was a little girl–was much too large to fit in a room with yet another twin bed besides. She has an exceptionally large bedroom, but not that large. Eventually our fosters moved out and moved on, but the loft bed stayed. Great storage. Great desk. And, yeah, there was a bed up there, too.
A few weeks ago my daughter was sick. She was up in the middle of the night vomiting, and once she hobbled back to her room I asked if she’d like me to just make her up a bed on the floor….because who wants to climb a ladder when you want to puke? She’s always been the Queen of the Blankets, so we had enough to make her up a comfy “mattress,” with some left over to tuck her up. She slept there the entire next day (poor kid) and then the next few nights.
And then the next few weeks.
And then today the fateful words: “Mama, could we move my mattress to the floor?”
Deep breath. “Would you consider selling your loft bed?”
I’m conflicted. There’s a piece of me wanting to beat myself up for wasting money on the thing; because it feels like wasted money. Why did we buy it if we’re just going to turn around and sell it, 2 1/2 years later? But that bed was used–I would almost say necessary–for the time we had it. When we had two girls in that room, it even gave them each their own desk….and a heck of a lot more floor space. We couldn’t predict the future; we didn’t know that she wouldn’t be sharing a room indefinitely. And now, it is no longer serving its purpose here: it’s more of a problem than a solution. It’s time to let go.
Wow, does she have her work cut out for her. We won’t sell it until she’s figured out what to do with all her Stuff: Books, stuffed animals, and Legos all made their home in that thing. She’s upstairs right now, though, with a big box (which she requested, “for all the stuff I’m going to get rid of….”) and with her mattress moved to the floor (“Look! Now I kind of have a window seat!”). I wish her luck. Now I have to go shop for mattresses.
(Quick update: “You know, when I really go through my stuffed animals, I only have ten left!” Now THAT’S progress.)