Bed Sharing

Henry and I have a Cal King Size bed. This might sound terribly un-romantic, but I love our big bed because we can both comfortably sleep without being on top of each other all night. I’m pretty sure this is heightened by the fact that I’m pregnant, but I like to cuddle til I fall asleep then do my own thing. Now….add a small child to that bed and things are all fucked up. Alex is now just shy of 3′ tall and when we are forced to let him sleep with us, that 3 feet of sweaty, wiggly, boy is all up in our business. This picture was him laid out in our bed due to an ear infection. Every once in a while, when he is sick, he is more comfy in our bed with us. Last night at 11:30 pm…just as I’m dozing off, he starts up (mind you, he’s perfectly healthy right now). We bring him into bed and after a few minutes of his standard “cat kneading” (consists of lots of caressing and re-positioning of his blankie), he is out. Normally, a non-parent person would think this would be so special or sweet to sleep with your child. But to a parent who has had their toddler change positions 1,000 times in a 6 hour window or had size 5 feet jammed in their backs or faces, this is far from adorable. I can be grateful that he did slept with out any more crying to fully wake us up. I remember how comforting it was to sleep in my parent’s bed, so I get it. But I guess the moral to this post is that 1) This shit better not happen when Chloe gets here and 2) To my parents I say, “I’m sorry.”