Ah. I remember a time, when my little one was a soft, fuzzy (literally, so much bodily hair I was slightly concerned I’d be waxing her shoulders for her year 12 formal), sweet newborn with cupid bow lips, with a tendency to snuffle in her sleep. I was too scared to co-sleep all night (as I am an active sleeper), but every morning until she discovered how to get off the bed, I would indulge in a cuddle and occasional snooze with my small offspring.
We were expert couch nappers in the early days, and it was generally a peaceful exercise enjoyed by all involved.
Quite rapidly, as the hair fell off, and small one grew, she also became more of an active sleeper. Little by little, small feet would nudge me so much, that sometimes I’d find myself dangerously hanging half off the mattress, whilst my baby would be sprawled out, arms and legs splayed carelessly about the place.
During the 2 am moments of angry teething, I’d give in and bring small one to bed with me, the thought behind it being I could just get some more sleep, and not sit there for hours rocking her in the vain hope she would settle. But even though her father and I were quite generous in allowing her into bed with us, she did not share the same sentiments or considerations.
And this continues today. How many times have I awoken to find toes resting in my ears, or a small sweaty head by my feet. A new and more dangerous trick has been the one where I find her trying to catapult herself from the space between my head and the headboard. I have woke to find her half hanging off the bed right near my head, stuck, and crying sadly at her self-imposed plight.
There is also the fun activity of trying to find mum in the dark, so she can lay pretty much all over my face. Sometimes an adventurous small finger likes to explore my right nostril, which always wakes me from my slumber.
On three separate occasions, I have woken to find a small nose buried lovingly in between the cheeks of my derriere, upon which I sincerely hoped unchecked wind had not knocked her completely out. (However I feared more for her welfare if she happened upon my husband’s behind by accident in the wee small hours of the morning.)
I have been starfished, rolled on, farted on, had a small bundle trying to take solace on my face. This should be enough for me to resist letting her be an occasional slumber party guest, however in the moment, when she is crying for her Mummy, reaching out, and asking for a hug, everything is wiped from my brain.
The only thing that remains is the desire to comfort, nurture and cuddle my child, before she is too old or cool for Mummy/Daughter sleep overs.
by Beck Hendropurnomo