When I got pregnant with my oldest son, I read every book I could get my hands on about caring for babies and raising productive children. One of the things that were drilled into my head was putting baby to sleep in their own crib straight from the beginning. This was a rule I stuck to firmly with my oldest and the twins. They never spent a night in my bed, because I was determined to raise independent kids. You can probably imagine my dismay when I became pregnant with my youngest son, and my husband insisted that he share our bed. I protested, giving every logical reason I could think of. What if we roll over on him? What if he gets trapped under the covers? What I really wanted to ask was: What if we can never get him out of our bed? I was perfectly reasonable in my thinking, and my son fulfills the fears I had even to this day. Almost four years after the topic of co-sleeping was initially introduced in our household, my husband and I yearn for a night’s sleep that doesn’t involve a 30 pound child in between us.
My king sized bed is quite spacious for the two of us. We actually spread out pretty comfortably, that is, until about one o’clock in the morning. A certain miniature version of my husband climbs out of his bed when he believes the coast is clear and arms himself with several toys, then makes his way into my room. He used to tap me on the shoulder so I could lift him up, now he just makes his way up from the foot of the bed to claim “his” space in the middle. He lies horizontally between my husband and me, and together we form the letter H. While hubby and I lie close to the edge, clinging to the sheets in an attempt to avoid contact with the floor, the boy stretches his limbs as far across the bed as they will reach. Before morning, I will have rolled over onto a remote controlled car and been kicked in the abdomen. There is also a possibility that I will wake up in a pool of urine, thanks to several gulps of water that the boy snuck from my glass before climbing into bed.
After a night of mayhem, my husband still manages to wake up bright eyed and well rested. The same does not hold true for me. My eyes are bloodshot, and I can’t stand up straight as a result of being in a rather awkward position for hours. Unable to speak in a normal voice because of my extreme irritability and fatigue, growling is my means of communication. Periodically I will glare at the husband, as if to remind him that my discomfort is a direct result of his bad decision-making. Of course he pretends not to notice in a way that seems to be standard with men.
One day, I would love to be able to sleep next to my husband the way a normal married couple sleeps. Hopefully, I don’t have to wait until someone goes off to college for that to happen. In the meantime, I share my king sized bed with a husband, the boy, and a remote controlled car.