I have never been opposed to sharing my space in the bed. In fact, when my husband and I were younger, We would drift off to sleep locked in one another's arms and remain that way until dawn's early light. New baby? No problem, we would just scoot over and make room for him. Co-sleeping sounded glorious; not to mention healthy for the baby. We co-slept our lives and quality sleep away until the baby was 5. We decided we'd had enough crooked necks and mule kicks to last us a lifetime, no matter how much we loved him.
We kicked him out. But not without the Bed Fairy.
We told him that every night that he slept in his own bed, the bed fairy would swoop down, gently lift his pillow and place a small gift under it. Some nights we were prepared for the placing of the gift. We were armed with matchbox cars, army men, tootsie pops, or stickers. Other nights, we failed miserably. In the morning, after we realized he had slept in his own bed, we were scrambling to produce a fairy gift. So, a packet of granulated sugar it was.
Eventually, we phased out the bed fairy and our son grew into a big boy who slept in his big boy bed every night...just in time for child #2.
Child #2 wants no part of her bed or a fairy. If she'd had the dexterity to do it, she would have waved her tiny middle finger into the bed fairy air above. She made it clear that she would forego a million tiny plastic trinket rewards if it meant she could manhandle us all through the night. Incessantly rubbing our arm fat at different intervals throughout the night was apparently more appealing.
At 2:30 a.m., we can expect to hear her tiny footsteps coming down the stairs in the pitch black; always forgetting there is a 14th step and crashing to the floor. Her determination to make it to our bed outweighs any discomfort she may have from the fall. I imagine she just picks herself up, grabs her Pillow Pet, and blanket, and stuffed bear, and Bill Nye the Science Guy book, and continues making her way to our room.
We feign sleeping. We add a snore for special effects. At this point, we have rolled over to the edges of the bed, making it impossible for her to climb in without waking us. She gets wise and crawls up through the foot of the bed. She settles in, awkwardly nonetheless, arms and legs everywhere; begins to inhale and exhale directly into my ear and falls into REM sleep.
This battle is exhausting. The constant threats "We are going to lock our door tonight!" (even though our door doesn't have a lock on it). Or, "I'm going to school to tell all your classmates that you still sleep with your mom and dad"! or "I'm going to tell the bed monster to eat you if you come down here tonight"! Ok, we haven't used the last one, but have been very close.
Some nights I just don't have the effort to fight her off. If she comes down much earlier than expected, I cave. I really despise these nights. If she is in the bed, that means I can't watch the shows I want to watch. I remember watching the 11 o'clock news about a horrific murder. I had actually forgotten that she was next to me, "sleeping". I said out loud to myself "Now, what'd the guy do?" Before I could rewind the DVR, she spoke up and said "Stabbed his son 13 times then attempted to slit his own throat". So, in the spirit of healthy childhood development, I end up watching something wholesome, like "Sewing with Nancy" and fall asleep 7 minutes in to her making a 30 minute scarf.
The next morning I am awakened by the tingling sensation of my arm that is asleep and dangling over the bedside; fingers touching the cold bedrail. As I rub my circulation back into rhythm, I look at the peaceful sleeping lass. Her cheeks are rosy. Mine are riddled with sheet wrinkles. Her body is stretched gracefully in a horizontal fashion. Mine is pushed to the edge as if I were sleeping on a balance beam all night. I forcefully jerk my pillow back from her to reclaim it. I feel something underneath. Could it be? Has the bed fairy rewarded ME for all my suffering? I lift the pillow up only to find Bill Nye the Science Guy staring back at me.
We kicked him out. But not without the Bed Fairy.
We told him that every night that he slept in his own bed, the bed fairy would swoop down, gently lift his pillow and place a small gift under it. Some nights we were prepared for the placing of the gift. We were armed with matchbox cars, army men, tootsie pops, or stickers. Other nights, we failed miserably. In the morning, after we realized he had slept in his own bed, we were scrambling to produce a fairy gift. So, a packet of granulated sugar it was.
Eventually, we phased out the bed fairy and our son grew into a big boy who slept in his big boy bed every night...just in time for child #2.
Child #2 wants no part of her bed or a fairy. If she'd had the dexterity to do it, she would have waved her tiny middle finger into the bed fairy air above. She made it clear that she would forego a million tiny plastic trinket rewards if it meant she could manhandle us all through the night. Incessantly rubbing our arm fat at different intervals throughout the night was apparently more appealing.
At 2:30 a.m., we can expect to hear her tiny footsteps coming down the stairs in the pitch black; always forgetting there is a 14th step and crashing to the floor. Her determination to make it to our bed outweighs any discomfort she may have from the fall. I imagine she just picks herself up, grabs her Pillow Pet, and blanket, and stuffed bear, and Bill Nye the Science Guy book, and continues making her way to our room.
We feign sleeping. We add a snore for special effects. At this point, we have rolled over to the edges of the bed, making it impossible for her to climb in without waking us. She gets wise and crawls up through the foot of the bed. She settles in, awkwardly nonetheless, arms and legs everywhere; begins to inhale and exhale directly into my ear and falls into REM sleep.
This battle is exhausting. The constant threats "We are going to lock our door tonight!" (even though our door doesn't have a lock on it). Or, "I'm going to school to tell all your classmates that you still sleep with your mom and dad"! or "I'm going to tell the bed monster to eat you if you come down here tonight"! Ok, we haven't used the last one, but have been very close.
Some nights I just don't have the effort to fight her off. If she comes down much earlier than expected, I cave. I really despise these nights. If she is in the bed, that means I can't watch the shows I want to watch. I remember watching the 11 o'clock news about a horrific murder. I had actually forgotten that she was next to me, "sleeping". I said out loud to myself "Now, what'd the guy do?" Before I could rewind the DVR, she spoke up and said "Stabbed his son 13 times then attempted to slit his own throat". So, in the spirit of healthy childhood development, I end up watching something wholesome, like "Sewing with Nancy" and fall asleep 7 minutes in to her making a 30 minute scarf.
The next morning I am awakened by the tingling sensation of my arm that is asleep and dangling over the bedside; fingers touching the cold bedrail. As I rub my circulation back into rhythm, I look at the peaceful sleeping lass. Her cheeks are rosy. Mine are riddled with sheet wrinkles. Her body is stretched gracefully in a horizontal fashion. Mine is pushed to the edge as if I were sleeping on a balance beam all night. I forcefully jerk my pillow back from her to reclaim it. I feel something underneath. Could it be? Has the bed fairy rewarded ME for all my suffering? I lift the pillow up only to find Bill Nye the Science Guy staring back at me.
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