The Place Between Sleep and Awake

When Luke was 2 or 3 years old, he climbed into our bed while we were asleep. That night, David had a nightmare that he was being stabbed in the back and woke up startled; he could feel the blood dripping from the knife wound. Turns out, Luke just peed on him. 

This wasn't the worst thing that happened in the last 12 years of nighttime parenting mishaps. Somehow, David always felt the brunt of it. Toddler-sized heads turn into sledgehammers; size 1 club feet bicycle kick into your softest, most vulnerable spots. Your mattress is ruined. 

You go into the whole bedtime routine with good intentions as a new parent. All of the experts and literature tell you they need to be in their own bed. You try; they cry. Your 5:00 a.m. alarm for work nags at you as you try to put them down again, and again and again. You give in and everyone is happier to just drift off to sleep, the baby nursing in the crook of your arm and you in your own damn bed.

Many would say to let my boys cry it out; stick them in their crib and close the door in a dark room. This is impossible for me. My instincts simply don't allow it. I'll gladly suffer a few years of bed sharing in exchange for a fresh crop of gray hairs and a few years taken off my life. 

I know from experience that it doesn't last forever. Once we decide to quit nursing, the transition from family bed to big boy bed will be all the easier. We'll have a few years of smooth sailing in a toddler bed before the night terrors and growing pains set in; and that's when the real fun begins.

For now, we'll continue to steal kisses from sleeping babes and laugh off our wacky sleep interrupted dreams. After all, you can always steal a nap or an extra cup of coffee tomorrow.