Since 5 year old J. had Scarlet Fever in April (basically that means a strep infection that comes with a feverish rash all over the body,) he’s been sleeping in my bed.
Not that I’ve felt great about it now that he’s been better, for months, but still here, but today I now grieve the loss that parents of young children face when the kids claim not just their room but their mom’s bed too.
Today I admit out loud: I miss “it.”
Not him – he’s over there being the little bedhog as always. I miss what I cannot have since he has moved into my bed. Gone are my delicious fantasies that used to put me to sleep smiling. No more Ronan Dex. No more Louis the 17th century vampire from New Orleans. Gone are the troops of valiant men and women who have graced my imagination’s skin over the years since the advent of the world’s longest marital separation ever.
This summer marked 6 years since my marriage had its first step towards living apart, the ending of it as a romantic relationship. It became permanent a year later, when J. was only 9 months old, and we all moved out of our home. Two of us went this-a-way and one of us went that-a-way. Most of those first years were no picnic over here: I was depressed and financially struggling; J. was struggling with something I couldn’t put my finger on; and I was continuously sleep-deprived from nursing through the night with a child who didn’t sleep well, and in a neighborhood that had more gunfire at night than I cared to admit.
When I finally cut off nursing after almost 3 ½ years, it didn’t so much feel like a “break” or something to celebrate – I just sort of breathed, finally, and started to sleep. It was a cruel joke when I found myself having trouble staying asleep after he finally learned how to sleep through the night. I was saved by trials of herbal teas, anxiety treatment techniques, and having my beautiful Rageful-by-day, lover-by-night imaginary boyfriend to curl up with.
Now all I have is chocolate, to the tune of several gained pounds of ugly belly and thigh fat. And sudoku. Books with pages and pages of logic puzzles, crossed off with the dates completed, some with my “time” next to them with pride – they are the brag books that no one ever sees.
I miss the Happy Place where I was loved, nurtured, wanted, and beautiful. Where I had something just for me, where it didn’t have to be in the service of social/emotional growth or feeding skills or fine motor maturity. Where I didn’t have to always do my best, didn’t have to perform Super Human Feats of single mothering like carrying a sleeping J. plus groceries and both our backpacks up to our forth floor apartment. Sometimes in a downpour (read: Thursday) to find a lake under the front leaky windows that needed attending to. Now I feel ashamed to even think about “it” when I’m falling asleep, as if J. is telepathic (for all I know…) and could be exposed to inappropriate things that way.
I miss Ronan.
I miss Zack.
I miss Mars.
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4 comments:
When Evan was a baby, he slept in an infant carrier on the floor in our bedroom. (He couldn't sleep in our bed because he was too congested to lie flat.)
After only a few weeks (like one and a half), Jonathan wanted me to move him out of the room. He was too loud with all the congestion, and Jonathan wasn't sleeping well.
So then Evan slept in an infant carrier in his crib in his room. And that was that.
At some point during his infancy, when we spoke to other parents about where their kids were sleeping, both Jonathan and I were happy that Evan was able to sleep in his own room.
I can't remember the last time I slept through the night next to either of my kids. I tried taking a nap with Tyler yesterday, and he kicked me out. "Go away!" So they don't want me there anymore either.
I do not have any children, just myself, Max and three cats all smooshed into a full sized bed. The step up from the twin. There is no such thing as personal space. but there has to be a moment when you claim your personal space on some level for your own sanity. Start with moving him back to his bed as he falls asleep in yours or set the routine to have him sleeping in his own bed soon. Maybe start with one night a week, then move up to two etc. He too will maybe at some point feel the need for his space also.
well, that's all too familiar to me. Even when I am lucky enough to get the kids to sleep in their own beds, usually one or both wake up during the night and come into our bed. Gabriel prefers his own bed, but Selena still likes to sleep with us. Sadly, in a king size bed, I get a couple of inches of space. We call our children "water" because whenever a slight space opens up, they fill it in. I am the first to admit that I don't get much "me" time at all, so I try to get what I can when they are asleep. I read a trashy novel or play solitaire on the computer or just think of things to google. My favorite, though, is the reading, because, then I can escape my life briefly and step into a new one. We all need that sometime. But as for "it", well, the kids can really get in the way of that, too. Whether it's mental or physical, but hey, go in Js room, he's not in there :)
My three girls still find the need, when the wind is blowing and the monsters are out, to confiscate some bedspace and push me out to the suburbs. With any luck it's a weekend and there's some bad schlock video on the tube....
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