hard

I am not a fan of co-sleeping. The "family bed". But I always wonder if it is humanistically natural for the whole damn fam to sleep in one spot. Probably, right? We are social animals after all.

It isn't like cavemen had Serta Pillowtops soft enough to drown their babies, or down comforters that were so light and fluffy that they could float over and adhere to little noses. Or Ambien. Or weight/alcohol/drug problems. Or one of the other millions of reasons that The Man tells us not to put baby in bed with us. They just hunkered together for warmth and protection and slept.

During the newborn months, I never felt like I could have (godforbid) saved Jake from choking or whatever faster if he was in my bed with me than I could if he was in the bassinet right next to me. As for nursing, it was just as easy to lift and latch that kid as it was to roll over and position. Plus I was sleeping better because I wasn't worried about crushing my baby with my boob that was twice as big as his torso. If there were gasping sounds or a fire alarm or this or that or the other, Jake was right next to me, but in his own little sleeping space. Safe from harm. I could get to him in two seconds.

Not that it didn't kill me to be six inches from that kid.

I thought I had it bad then.

Boy was I wrong.

It really pains me now not to sleep next to Jake. It really slays Jake not to sleep next to me. He cries and begs, I deny and try not to let the lump come out of my throat and through my tear ducts.
I love that kid so much and I miss holding him for hours and hours each day and I feel like if I could just curl up with him every night my life would be so much happier and he would be so much more pleasant and moon beams would dance on our cheeks and a rainbow would appear each morning to wake us and bluebirds would sing on my sill and baby deer would take their first wobbly steps down my hallway on their way to get a drink out of the toilet.

But supposedly it's not very mentally/physically/emotionally healthy for anyone to pile up into the big bed, according to Big American Standards.
Plus I like my own space. I'm sure I'd be ready to give him the boot by 1am each night when he had is foot in my windpipe and his sticky hand tangled in my hair.

I think it's weird that we get our own beds all through childhood and then you are expected to share them when you meet someone special. I think it's weird that we get our own rooms our whole lives, then when we move in with someone, we have to share. That's disgusting and unfair. But that's not the point. Or maybe it is. Maybe we aren't supposed to have so much personal space all the time. Maybe we should be near our people. Our pack. Our pride.

Am I really ruining Jake for life if I fall asleep with him at night? Probably not. I'm sure he will want me out Out OUT! of that room soon enough. I doubt he will need me to come into his dorm room and hold him "just five minutes more".

Am I ruining myself? More likely.

In those squishy warm warm classes that I take for professional development (teaching teachers how to teach parents how to parent, essentially. There are about 1000 hours of parenting/child development classes available to us. Which has saved my hide more than once) we learn to caution caregivers to be sure that they aren't filling a missing void in their lives by forcing affection on their children or bribing their children to be close to them.
Gah, I don't want to be that parent but I see how easily it can happen. I don't want to fill that elusive hole in my heart with my child's presence. It isn't his responsibility to make me feel better. It's my responsibility to get better so I can be sure that I am there to help patch his holes. To be a better mom. To enjoy time with him, rather than use time with him.
I don't want to obsess over the horror stories I hear each day and try to repair my soul by holding Jake tight against me while he sleeps. That's creepy.

Effective, but creepy.

So even though it is hard for us both sometimes, bedtime is still amazing. And most nights I make it out of there before one or both of us falls asleep in his tiny little toddler bed that seems to be shrinking by the day. And I can go in there and check on him and touch his face and cover his toes whenever I want during the night. And Jake will likely grow up to not be a serial killer who victimizes people who remind him of mommy. I might do some growing up of my own.

And everyone will be happy and not grossed out by our wacky family.