When my children were babies and toddlers, my husband and I rarely allowed them to sleep in our bed at night. Of course, there were some nights when they ended up in our bed due to a scary dream or sickness, but we really tried to keep these visits to a minimum, both in frequency and duration. We would let them climb in, cuddle, and maybe doze off for a bit, but we would usually return them to their own bed within an hour.
It wasn’t that we were worried, per se, that their visits would turn into a habit. It was more that we wanted everyone to be comfortable in their own beds and to function to the best of their abilities the next day. Co-sleeping, simply put, did not leave anyone well-rested.
We still don’t co-sleep, but we spend a lot more time in our kids’ beds now. Our kids are 13, 11, and 7, and they are all at very different stages with very different needs. My husband and I visit each of their beds every night to give them what they need. And as their mama, it should come as no surprise that the duration of time I stay in each of their beds is decided (and sometimes manipulated) by each of them.
Admittedly, the night process often takes too long, but there are only so many more nights they will each ask me to stay in their bed. I say I miss the easier bedtimes when I’d read them two (or maybe three or four) books, sing their special song, and tuck them in, and be back downstairs by 7:30 to actually enjoy some kid-free time. My husband and I would have a quiet dinner, then watch an episode of something. It would still be a humane enough hour for me to do some grading without falling asleep mid-paper.
Nights now are often a chaotic game of pinball. The 13-year-old has a commitment to acting, singing, or dancing, or is working on homework until after 9 p.m. The 11-year-old has sports practice, then watches a professional sports game with my husband. The 7-year-old desperately wants to be as old as her sister and brother with a later bedtime. She knows that she is tired, but she does not logically understand that she needs to go to sleep. So, my husband and I are the silver balls bounced here, there, and everywhere before we even make it upstairs to each of their beds.
But once I’m in each of their beds, there is a reset, a way to rest and be still. With the youngest, I read and talk to her stuffed animals. I stroke her nose. She asks me questions about my childhood and my late father. We cuddle and look at the nebula projected over her bunk. With the middle, I rub his back and ask “would you rather” questions. He tells me about sports, and I try to pry information about his days in 6th grade. With the eldest, we have real conversations about growing up, what it means to be a good friend, a good student, and an overall good person. We work through conflicts and resolutions. We speak with honesty and emotion.
I sing to them all. I snuggle under each of their blankets. I sometimes take a catnap. When I leave the final bed, it’s often past 10 p.m.
There will come a night when I’m only visiting two beds, and then a night when it’s only one bed. And the saddest night of all, when I won’t be visiting any bed. So, for now, I’ll co-rest in each of their beds.
