I never thought I'd be open to a communal bed, but now the idea of sleeping with our two sons is starting to seem like a not-so-terrible idea.
Here's why:
1. Sleep! August and Finley don't sleep through the night. Maybe if they slept in bed with Matt and me they wouldn't wake up as often -- and even if they did, at least I wouldn't have to get my butt out of bed and down the hall to soothe them. Instead, I could stick a pacifier in their mouths and rub their little backs in a half-dream, half-awake state. Good idea or just plain lazy?
2. Closeness. Now that I'm a working mom, I want to spend more time with my boys. I miss them terribly during the day. I see them for about an hour and a half each morning and then another hour or so in the evening. So sleeping in the same bed is the only way I can think of to have them with me more often. Good parenting or totally weirdly clingy?
Before you answer, let me share the background. When I was pregnant, I thought, 'Of course, I would never let my kids sleep in bed with me. That's just too close for comfort. It's not healthy. They need to have their own space.' I loved (and still love) the idea of all of us cuddling under the covers on a Sunday morning. But I never wanted to spend my nights crammed into a queen-sized bed jockeying for space with two babies and Matt. I love sleeping too much!
Then one afternoon when August was about four months old I couldn't get him to settle down, so I cradled him next to me on the bed, and together we fell into a deep mid-afternoon sleep. I awoke from the nap relaxed and blissful. Since then, I have stolen occasional brief snoozes separately with August and Finley. Those little naps are probably the most intimate moments of my life -- breathing in the sweet smell of baby, feeling their buttery soft skin, hearing their gentle breath, knowing I would do anything and everything to protect them for the rest of my life.
Not that it's easy sleeping with a baby. They spend a lot of time rolling and cooing, drooling, kicking, scratching at your face and pulling your hair. But once they fall asleep, it's like being weightless and in love.
So my friends, as I settle in at the ripe hour of 8:45 p.m. for a disturbed night of sleep, tell me what you think. Is it a good idea to have a communal family bed or not?
Monday, January 30, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
A Work In Progress
I think I forgot to brush my teeth this morning. That’s just how my days go lately. The usual stuff of life –- grooming, eating, sleeping, socializing –- often slips through the cracks.
I also didn’t wash my hair today. I’ve always been the kind of person who washes her hair every single day (almost), but this is the new me. Now I am a fulltime working mom and some days, probably every day, something has to give.
I’d like to be the kind of woman who has perfectly straightened hair with no ugly, rouge, stray grays sticking out. I’d like to be a person who’s in good shape and wears clean, tailored clothes. I’m not that person. I am a working mom of twins.
For months I worried about going back to work. The day finally arrived this week. Many friends – all women – sent me emails, texts, facebook messages wishing me well. They all know that first day is impossible. It’s like man walking on the moon kind of impossible -– something that seems insane, wild, unreasonable, foolish even, until it actually happens. And then it's just reality.
In the morning on that first day of work, I rushed from the house with tears streaming down my face, leaving August and Finley with the nanny on the play mat in the kitchen nook, which is now a playroom. They were fine. I was the one who was a mess.
It’s a small miracle I was not in a major car accident on the way home I drove so frantically, cursing L.A., idiot drivers, horrific traffic, a society where we must leave our children with strangers all day. I was a mad, mad woman. The minute I walked through the door I dramatically threw myself at my sons as if I’d just gotten home from a four-month tour in Afghanistan. Happily, the boys were wildly excited to see me, too. They each smiled from ear to ear, shrieked with joy, laughed and hugged me as much as any 6-month old baby can hug, and covered me in wet, gummy drool. Bliss.
That first day I thought I would never make it another day. But I got up at 5:45 a.m. the next morning and pushed ahead. It’s only been three days, but I have made it this far.
I’ve even developed a bit of a morning routine: pump, shower, dress, make bottles, greet babies who have just woken up, feed babies, change diapers, make second breakfast of cereal and pureed banana, set up high chairs, feed babies again, shove something edible into my mouth, greet nanny and go to work. You see, there is no ‘brush teeth’ in my routine! What can I say? It’s a work in progress. My whole life is a work in progress.
I also didn’t wash my hair today. I’ve always been the kind of person who washes her hair every single day (almost), but this is the new me. Now I am a fulltime working mom and some days, probably every day, something has to give.
I’d like to be the kind of woman who has perfectly straightened hair with no ugly, rouge, stray grays sticking out. I’d like to be a person who’s in good shape and wears clean, tailored clothes. I’m not that person. I am a working mom of twins.
For months I worried about going back to work. The day finally arrived this week. Many friends – all women – sent me emails, texts, facebook messages wishing me well. They all know that first day is impossible. It’s like man walking on the moon kind of impossible -– something that seems insane, wild, unreasonable, foolish even, until it actually happens. And then it's just reality.
In the morning on that first day of work, I rushed from the house with tears streaming down my face, leaving August and Finley with the nanny on the play mat in the kitchen nook, which is now a playroom. They were fine. I was the one who was a mess.
It’s a small miracle I was not in a major car accident on the way home I drove so frantically, cursing L.A., idiot drivers, horrific traffic, a society where we must leave our children with strangers all day. I was a mad, mad woman. The minute I walked through the door I dramatically threw myself at my sons as if I’d just gotten home from a four-month tour in Afghanistan. Happily, the boys were wildly excited to see me, too. They each smiled from ear to ear, shrieked with joy, laughed and hugged me as much as any 6-month old baby can hug, and covered me in wet, gummy drool. Bliss.
That first day I thought I would never make it another day. But I got up at 5:45 a.m. the next morning and pushed ahead. It’s only been three days, but I have made it this far.
I’ve even developed a bit of a morning routine: pump, shower, dress, make bottles, greet babies who have just woken up, feed babies, change diapers, make second breakfast of cereal and pureed banana, set up high chairs, feed babies again, shove something edible into my mouth, greet nanny and go to work. You see, there is no ‘brush teeth’ in my routine! What can I say? It’s a work in progress. My whole life is a work in progress.
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