Musical beds.

My kids have long outgrown the physical need to sleep in my bed. Physical need, for me, is qualified as nursing through the night. Aka, under the four month mark in age. If the little leeches weren't actually in the bed with me for their five nursing, burping, changing sessions per night, then they probably wouldn't have made it to their crawling milestone.

Obviously, the little darlings lived through that stage. They have moved on to their own beds, can get up to use the toilet at 2am without notifying me, read until way past "lights out" and maybe even dance naked in their rooms all night. As long as the door is closed and no one needs me after 9pm, all is well. Mommy's gotta get her beer on sometime.

Why is it then that the first question out of their mouths when they know that their Dad is going out of town is, you guessed it, "can we sleep in your bed?" Crapola. Doesn't ANYONE in this crazy house understand that I HATE to be touched while I'm sleeping? It doesn't matter the intention, I wake up in fighting mode if the reason for a nighttime disturbance is someone else's sweaty body part. Don't you all know that, for many decades, the drug of choice for any female who has survived a newborn (or two) is SLEEP?

The rules for sleepovers in my rarely-solo bed now include options for number of days that my lovely husband is out of town. One night=no way. Two nights=maybe, if you clean up all your shit without complaining or shoving it under the couch. Three nights=I have no more outs, OK, bring in all the stuffed animals, books, live animals, blankets and pillows you all usually bed down with. I'll close the door and I'll see you in two hours or so....

Guess where I end up? I rescue my (contourmemoryfoam) pillow from between my two girls who are sprawled diagonally in my very comfortable king-sized mattress. I creep quietly down the hall, so as not to wake the cats who have also settled onto my down and high thread count nest, and I climb into the bed in one of the kids rooms.

I know these mattresses well. Josephine's full-size is from Montgomery Wards 1989, Albany, NY. The queen-size, which Madeline piles with successful rescues from the crane machine at the grocery story, is from May Co. 1993, Jersey City, NJ. I can trace the history of my marriage and economic status by the sleeping options throughout my house. My beds have gotten progressively larger, more luxurious. Isn't it funny that I still choose the twenty year old option, pokey springs and all, as long as it guarantees me a full night's sleep, alone? Also, there's less pee in that one.

In the morning I climb back into bed between my two beautiful girls before the alarm goes off. It's like cheating but without all the excitement. I have revisited my past in the other bedrooms in my house, snuck in one more night of blissful solo sleep, and my girls are never the wiser that they haven't spent the night cocooned next to a very awake, very grumpy mother.