Apparently, I was so tired from this event that it didn’t get published until…April. This was about a year ago. Still cute, though. XO, Mom.
Let’s talk a bit about sleep, shall we? We aren’t a co-sleeping family. It’s not that we didn’t want to have you sleep in our bed and it’s not like we didn’t read all the pros and cons of sleeping as a family in those first few months of your wee little life.
It’s simple: Dad and I had a full sized bed and four animals that each outweighed you. There was no space for you, and if there was space, the was no safe space for you in the bed. The crib was the safest place for you. And while there were many (many, many, many) nights I thought it would be easier to have you in bed with us, it just wasn’t something we thought would work.
As a result, you slept so well in your own room from a very early age. You slept through the night at 2 months old (oh, THANK YOU). As much as I wanted you to be the kid that slept anywhere at any time, you weren’t. You only have ever slept in your bed, unless you are sick. Then I can get a photo of you sleeping somewhere else.
We don’t have any photos of you sleeping in mashed potatoes that we can make funny comments about, or falling asleep playing with your dolls in the office…
So when you got bigger and wanted to sleep with us, we got a King sized bed. And you do sleep on me, but it’s not the restful, sweet, picturesque scene you might imagine. You snore in my ear. You push me to the outside of the giant bed and take all the blankets. My dreams of having you sleep with us were crushed by the reality of your active sleeping style. This came to a head last night.
I ended up sleeping on the floor, in your blow up bed at your grandparent’s home. Your dad woke up next to you, not me. I didn’t sleep on the floor but I could at least relax. It was the most rest I had in three days, with the added bonus of you coughing and hacking in my face in the middle of the night because you have been sick. My place is next to you… But man kiddo. I don’t fit in your tiny bed with you; you can’t fit in our massive bed with us, and you certainly do not fit with both of us in your dad’s childhood bed.
Bunny, I love you. I love you more when I can sleep. Next time you are sick, I’ll snuggle. I’ll snuggle you when we read bedtime stories, but I just can’t actively sleep with you because you are too active a sleeper. It’s like you are reenacting all the positions of an NFL championship game in your sleep and I just can’t get tackled and grunted on anymore.