My Big Bed

Look at you. You’re getting big.

Your knees bump the end of the cot. Your toes poke through the bars. When you stretch in the morning, bump! goes one hand, and bonk! goes the other.

“Hmm,” I say. “I think somebody needs a bigger bed.”

---

And one day, here it is.

A big bed. Low and long, with no bars at all. Room for you, and room for Rabbit, and room for a wriggle or two.

And on top, look: your own blanket from the cot, the soft blue one with the yellow stars.

You climb on. You climb off. You climb on again.

Big bed, big bed, just for me! No bars, no bumps, as big as can be!

Can you say it too? Big bed, big bed, just for me!

---

When it gets dark, bedtime comes, the same as always.

First, the bath. Splish, splash, bubbles on your nose.

Then pyjamas. One arm, two arms. One leg, two legs.

Then teeth. Brush, brush, brush, and a big foamy grin.

Then a story, and our sleepy song, the one I always sing.

Same bath. Same pyjamas. Same story. Same song.

But a new bed.

In you climb. I tuck the starry blanket up to your shoulders, and Rabbit snuggles in beside you.

“Night-night,” I say. “Sleep tight. See you in the morning light.”

I switch on the little star light, and I go out, and I leave the door open, just a crack.

---

The room is very quiet.

And the big bed feels very big.

You wriggle to this side. No bars. You wriggle to that side. No bars. Nothing to hold on to, except Rabbit.

The ceiling looks different from here. The shadows look different too. Your tummy feels fluttery, like a moth at a window.

So you do something you could never do in a cot.

You get out.

Pad, pad, pad, across the floor. Peep, round the door.

“Hello?”

---

I don’t laugh. And I don’t get cross.

I kneel down, nose to nose. “Hello, you. Does the big bed feel strange?”

You nod.

“New things often do,” I say. “Come on. Back to bed.”

Hand in hand. Pad, pad, pad. In you go. Up comes the blanket. In goes Rabbit.

“Night-night. Sleep tight. See you in the morning light.”

---

Quiet again. Very quiet.

Pad, pad, pad. Peep.

“Rabbit wants a drink.”

I smile a small, sleepy smile. “Rabbit had lots of bathwater. Rabbit’s fine. Come on.”

Hand in hand. Pad, pad, pad. In you go. Up comes the blanket. In goes Rabbit.

“Night-night. Sleep tight. See you in the morning light.”

And this time, I sit down by the door, just for a little while.

---

You lie still, and look around.

There’s the star light, glowing gold. The same as always.

There’s your blanket, soft and blue, smelling of home. The same as always.

There’s Rabbit, with one floppy ear. The same as always.

There’s our sleepy song, still humming in your head.

And there I am, by the door, in the dark. The same as always.

The bed is new. But everything else is just the same.

You give a yawn. A big yawn, for a big bed.

Big bed, big bed… just for me…

Your eyes go slow… and slower… and close.

---

I tiptoe over and check the blanket.

“Goodnight, my love,” I whisper. “It might feel strange again tomorrow. That’s all right. I’m not far away.”

But you’re already fast asleep, in your big, big bed.

Goodnight, star light. Goodnight, Rabbit.

Goodnight, big bed.

And goodnight, you.

The End

About this story

A first night in a big bed, told to your little one as “you”, by the grown-up reading it as “I”. It starts with the excitement, a bed with no bars and a rhyme to shout, then lets the strange part in: the bed feels too wide, the shadows look different, and they get up. Twice. Each time, the grown-up doesn’t laugh or get cross. They just walk them back, hand in hand, and say the same goodnight words.

What makes the new bed feel like home is everything that hasn’t changed: the same bath, the same song, the same blanket from the cot, the same toy and the same grown-up nearby. The rhyme that starts out bouncy comes back at the end as a sleepy whisper. And the story doesn’t pretend it will all be easy from now on. “It might feel strange again tomorrow. That’s all right.”

Reading it aloud

• Start reading it a week or two before the new bed arrives, so it’s something to look forward to, and keep reading it on the first nights in the big bed, as part of the routine.
• The “I” is whoever is reading: Mum, Dad, Grandma, a carer. Swap Rabbit for their own cuddly toy, and the bath, teeth and song for whatever your bedtime really looks like.
• Talk about what will come with them to the new bed (their blanket, their toy), what will stay just the same, and how the big bed might feel. If they say it feels strange, that’s fine. It felt strange in the story too.
• Shout “Big bed, big bed, just for me!” the first time, and let them join in. By the end, whisper it.
• Read the getting-up parts slowly and calmly, and keep the second “Pad, pad, pad” a little sleepier than the first.