My family has always been really big on co-sleeping. And when I say “my family” I mean my kids, and when I say “big” I also mean my kids. Basically, what I’m trying to say here is that my kids still get in bed with me, even though they are now both pretty big.
In Clyde’s case “pretty big” means “really, really big.” As in huge. As in it feels like a full grown man is crawling into bed with me every time he gets under the covers, probably because he is practically the size of a full grown man. Which would be fine except for the fact that there is already a full grown man in my bed—my husband—and two full grown men and one full grown woman are a bit much for a queen sized bed. It feels like I’m sailing steerage class on the Titanic. And by the Titanic I mean that this ship is doomed.
When my daughter was little we had a very simple and fail safe solution to the problem of involuntary co-sleeping: we had another child. (I call this the “gardener’s solution.” If you want to drive unwanted species out of a flower bed all you need to do is plant something that will outcompete them. And nothing can outcompete a baby when it comes to taking up space. They are like one of those magic sponges that start out as a little capsule and then become a full sized bath sponge. With the pills you just add water; with babies you just add sleep.)
When it came time to kick my son out of our bed, however, I realized that our previous method was not going to be a sustainable solution—I was not going to just be able to have more and more children indefinitely. (Yeah, I know that that should have been obvious the first time, but in my defense I was too sleep-deprived to think clearly.) And so, having already used my quota of parental brilliance on the first solution, this time around I took the lazy mom’s approach and did nothing, telling myself that the problem would eventually sort itself out. After all, how many teenagers still get in bed with their parents, right?
Turns out that the answer to that question is “one.” But when that one is your teenager, and when the bed in question is also yours, it turns out that “one” is more than enough.
I know that I should be flattered; after all, it’s not many teenagers that are even willing to sit next to you at the movies, let alone cuddle. And I also know that I shouldn’t be worried: it’s not like he’s coming in after bad dreams, or from some fear of being alone. There are still plenty of times during the day when his door is closed and the vibe is clearly one of Go Away Now. But I guess there’s just something about the night that causes all of his prickly teenage-ness to soften enough to want to cuddle. Which is great. Really. Really really great. No, seriously, it’s awesome. Or, at least, it would be if I had a standing appointment with a chiropractor.
When my kids were toddlers parents with older children would always tell me that one day I would look back and miss the days of temper tantrums and diapers. I’ve got to say that while that scenario hasn’t happened yet, I’m still open to the idea of it one day coming true. And, in the same way, I’m still open to the idea that one day I will miss waking up every morning crammed into bed like I’m in some kind of Hee Haw skit.
Or maybe that’s just the sleep deprivation talking again.