Sweet Dreams

When I found out I was pregnant, the first thing I did was go out and grab as many books about pregnancy and baby care as possible.  There were so many resources with many different approaches to everything.  Some of the advice was conflicting, some of the advice was troubling, but all of it was downright stressful.  And to make matters worse, they would put out a disclaimer saying that ultimately we should do what our instincts as mothers tell us to do.  The reason I went to these resources in the first place was because I was not yet a mother and I did not possess any “mothering instincts” to rely upon. 

 

One of the things that fascinated me most was the topic of sleep. Yes, we were going to be sleep deprived when the baby was born.  Yes, we were going to have uncomfortable sleeps in the later part of our pregnancy due to our huge size and all the aches and pains.  Yes, we will never really sleep as deeply again. 

 

But beyond that, putting a baby to sleep became a dark 8-10 hour tunnel of despair and exhaustion, the only light of  hope being the sun coming up over the horizon and the sound of the chirping birds. There were books solely dedicated to how to put our children to bed.  Soothe them, not soothe them.  Let them share our bed, do not let them in our beds.  And if our child didn’t sleep well, they were labelled as fussy, cholicky, or “not textbook”.  I lost a lot of sleep just trying to implement all the practical ways to put our children to sleep: cluster feeding, using soothers, putting our children on their back, putting our children on their tummies, swaddling them, letting them cry it out first in intervals of 5 minutes to whole 45 minute periods.

 

Up until I was 13 years old, because of my father’s business ventures, we moved almost every year.  For every different housing situation we ended up in, be it a tiny apartment, a sprawling rancher or a temporary seedy motel room, I always shared my bed with either my parents or my sister.  As babies, my sister and I would sleep with our parents in one bed.  Even when we got older and my sister and I had our own bedrooms and had separate beds, we would always end up sleeping together in one bed.  One of us would always end up crawling into the other’s bed.  I didn’t think it strange.  We were not fussy or cholicky children.  We were happy and felt safe.  We laughed and shared stories together.  We would drift off into dreamland together, my sister and I. 

 

That bed that my sister and I shared became my reference when deciding to let my toddler climb into bed with my husband and I.  My children do not need a reason or have to be ill or require soothing in order to sleep with us if they want.  In fact, there is nothing more comfortable and peaceful at the end of the day than our family bed.  We share stories about the day.  Sometimes we talk about things that scare us.  Sometimes we end up laughing about a funny secret.  There are no sweeter dreams.