Wherein The Family Bed Meets An Abrupt And Bitter End. Or did it?
So yeah. The family bed. It’s a nice idea, in theory. And in reality, perhaps, if you have a king-size bed. Or a child who sleeps like a corpse. But we have neither.
We never did the family bed with our babies. In fact, my 2-year-old still sleeps happily in her crib. But at some point between the time that we moved the big kids to twin beds and now, they got into the habit of coming into our bed during the night.
My 8-year-old son has pretty much outgrown this habit, and did so on his own. He always was the easy one.
My 5-year-old daughter, on the other hand, still manages to weasel her way into our bed, and usually hunkers down right in between my husband and me. Romance, needless to say, is a thing of the past.
I really don’t mind, and my husband didn’t at first, but over time, our little nightly visitor has become increasingly unwelcome. But she is a stubborn soul, and she has a knack for making her entrance so stealthily that we often don’t even realize she’s there until we wake up to a knee in the back, or, as was the case a few days ago, a fist in the eye. Or my personal favorite, "Mommy, I wet the bed!" Oh yeah, that has happened SEVERAL times. The joys.
The fist in the eye, however, was the final straw. It was after that rude awakening that I informed my daughter that from now on, if she wants to come into our room, she can bring her sleeping bag and make a little nest for herself on the floor. But she may not come into our bed until she sees the morning light outside the window.
That worked well the first night. And last night started out alright. Until I woke to a little face beside my head and the plaintive voice saying, "I had a bad dream. Can I come in your bed?"
So, sucker that I am, I scooted over and made room.
What can I say? I’m a softie. And besides, it was daylight somewhere.