My 5-year-old — my very last little one — has decided he prefers to share a room with his three siblings and dad, leaving me feeling a bit down.
I mean, I understand it. I don’t tell him bedtime stories like his dad does; instead, I rely on YouTube to play kids’ meditations and lullabies to coax him to sleep, especially when it’s past 10 p.m. Is that really too much to ask? While his siblings engage in long, silly conversations before drifting off, my husband is the fun parent who also doubles as a portable heater. But still!
I’ve been sneaking him back into my bed during the night, only for him to wake up furious in the morning, muttering “I hate Mama” over and over. It’s adorably funny, but it might sting if I let myself feel it.
And please don’t suggest letting my husband back into the picture. A few months ago, he inquired about when he could return to our bedroom — not for intimacy, but for sleep. I told him never.
For one, our 10-year-old daughter and 8-year-old son wouldn’t stand for it (and the 12-year-old would probably agree). Plus, our king-sized bed is simply not spacious enough for me, my 5-year-old, and a grown man.
Anyone who has shared a bed with a young child knows they take up nearly all the space with their squirming bodies and countless stuffed animals, leaving you clinging to the edge of a mattress you splurged on. There’s no room for my husband’s too-large frame, which makes the bed too warm and dips the mattress. What’s the point of that?
I miss my stinky, cuddly baby who sleep talks, thrashes, and occasionally delivers a light smack to my face with his tiny fists! It’s not because I’m selfish.
Okay, maybe it’s a little selfish. I want my youngest to connect with his older siblings and create those peculiar bedtime memories together. That’s why I let him drift off with them!
But he’s still only 5 and needs more sleep than the older ones, who wake up much earlier and can be quite noisy (we homeschool). Plus, who wants to deal with a perpetually tired 5-year-old? No one, that’s who.
He argues that he can still sleep with his siblings (which is true), but he definitely gets more rest when he’s with me.
And no, it’s not just because I love smelling his sweaty little head or kissing his adorable cheeks (which he would never allow when awake unless bribed with snacks). I even think I’ll miss those little face smacks.
And while his siblings enjoy having him around, they don’t love sharing a bed, as he hogs all the space. In fact, my 12-year-old complained about a restless night, and I couldn’t help but internally gloat while saying, “Oh, what a shame.”
The only “solution” seems to be having another baby.
Okay, that’s not true either. I definitely don’t want another child right now. I already have four kids, and having another would only push my own plans back a couple of years. I’ve finally started to regain some control over my life — and then the pandemic hit. It feels reckless to consider getting pregnant on a whim just because babies are adorable and cuddly.
But I tend not to think about the consequences, and babies grow into toddlers, who in turn become cheeky 5-year-olds that abandon me in my spacious king-sized bed.
Don’t mind me; I just have something in my eye!