Three In The Bed

And the biggest one said "is she ever going to sleep in her own cot, or...?"

Welcome to Baby Brain, a space where I – Charlotte, hi! – write about my life as a mother of three small children – Poppet (m, 4 years), Pickle (m, 2 years) and Peach (f, 6 months.) Those are not their real names. These are real stories from our days.

Pssst! A new version of this post can be found here:

Three In The Bed

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My favourite thing about co-sleeping – not that you asked – is being within touching distance of my daughter's little hands when she decides, at several points in her slumber, that she requires a good long stroke of mummy's arm. She does it often, moving her soft, squidgy palms up and down sometimes rhythmically, sometimes erratically, in what I think is an attempt to self soothe – something I know might sound nonsensical on the surface as the term ‘self soothing’ implies no need for outside input, but we're old enough to know that self soothing is bullshit so it all worked out in the end. (I for one still can’t part with the teddy bear I slept with for years and if the same fate is to come of my arms, well, so be it. Lop them off and take them to uni with you, Peach, I’ll have no need for them once you’re gone.)

I entered into the co-sleeping life unwillingly. As a first time mum, the very notion was horrifying to me, convinced as I was that I would roll onto my baby and he would die. Poppet didn't sleep in our bed until he was a toddler, then – old enough to re-position himself, usually opting for a big toe perilously close to my nostrils as he snored directly into his dad’s ear – but that was fine, because he never needed to co-sleep anyway, he was a babe that liked his space.

Pickle arrived 19 months after the sleep wunderkind with his own set of needs, mostly the need to touch mummy at all times (please and thank you never leave me mummy I'm scared.) For a couple of weeks after his birth, I tried in vain to get him into his crib, to no avail, and after a series of incidents that found me waking up from breastfeeding with him still in my arms, adrenaline racing as I thought each time that I'd smothered him with my heaving milk machines, we made the commitment to having him in our bed officially, 'just for now.'

Just for now in this case meaning for 22 months as daddy asked repeatedly when he'd be in his own room, and mummy attempted to make the move only to give in to exhaustion and sleepy snuggles somewhere around 2am, daily.

I loved having Pickle in my bed. I loved his cuddles, I loved hearing him breathe, I loved his milky breath on my cheek, I loved it. His dad didn't love it, because he kept getting kicked in the back but c'est la vie, mi amigo, kids be kidding.

When Peach was born, I tried to get her into her Next2Me as soon as possible, by now used to being able once again to actually move in my sleep. For the first few months, it was fine, and then her sleep cycle matured (the dreaded four month regression that actually marks more of a progression) and she was suddenly unable to stay asleep unless I was right there in her face, nipple to nose, as it were. 

So now we are leaning into it. We are leaning into the close proximity, she and I, that has me sat on my bed in the dark every evening as she's sprawled next to me, her snoozing and me writing and reading and watching Flight of the Conchords with my husband. I'm leaning into the little hand that seeks me out in the dark, and the little snores that tell me it's probably safe to run to the bathroom, no-one’s waking up for at least 5 minutes and if they do, they'll be too sleepy to scream until I'm back so no harm done for now. I'm leaning into it all, because one day she'll be gone, in her own room ala Pickle, telling me off for giving her cuddles because she's ‘busy building a tower mummy get off.’

My husband, from time to time, mentions that the bed is a little crowded. For the most part he's joking, we've worked out how to breastfeed without her switching sides of the bed and so her feet are nowhere near him, jabbing him in the kidneys in the display of dominance favoured by his youngest son. Every so often though, I do wonder if we'll soon reach a day when his concerns become louder, and he insists on some space. If that day arrives, of course, I'll be sad. It'll be the end of an era. An admittance that things are changing. But he is my husband and I his wife and we are a team, and so our concerns must be taken seriously and on board. When that day comes, then, I won't fight it. I'll allow the move to be made from three in the bed to two, and I'll respect his choice. How he'll fit into the cot is beyond me, but I was never good at maths and I assume he'll work it out. As long as he doesn't wake us up by attempting to cry it out if he becomes uncomfortable, Peach and I will be ok, sleeping soundly in our king sized cocoon, mother and daughter at rest.

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Three sleep related Pickle anecdotes from the vault:

January 26th 2022: Last night, my baby, my precious angel, woke up four times before midnight. He then joined me in my bed. And shuffled and moaned and prodded me and slapped me on the eyeball all the way until 7am, when my husband came to get me up for a day of mayhem with said baby, and unsaid toddler. I am exhausted. But his little face, alongside the planting of sloppy (and usually sicky) kisses all over my face as soon as he rises, makes it so that all is forgiven, if not quite forgotten, setting me up for another day of sleep deprivation fringed with adoration. How do they do it? (... How do we?)

February 7th 2022: Last week, whilst unwell, my 9 month old baby crawled into my lap, placed his cheek to my breast, pudgy little hand resting on my chest, and – in a relieved little 'I am poorly and you are here to fix me' voice – said his first ever word: "mama." Just like that, I no longer cared that I hadn't slept in three days. I no longer cared about any of the negativity that can seep into the longer of parenting days, and my whole tired being instead became enveloped in a warm glow of thrilling pride, as his warm little body nestled into its safe place. Into his mama. This truly is the best job in the world. Even on the days that are, otherwise, a bit crap.

February 13th 2022: I would very much like to be excluded from this club, one that I have never asked to be a part of, since 2021. (But I'll be keeping the mug.)

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A quick note on bedsharing

Bedsharing is a common practice around the world and is considered safe as long as you observe the ‘safe sleep seven,’ which you can find here. The safest position for mum to sleep in is thought to be the cuddle curl, which you can read about here.

Me and my dad in the 80’s, before safe sleep guidelines were a thing – it’s a miracle any of us survived

Until next time 😴

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