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- Hey Kid, Time to Exit My Bed!
by Taylor Jennings
Updated: Sep. 13, 2016
Originally Published: Sep. 13, 2016
My darling, wonderful child, let’s cut to the chase: You are driving me absolutely bonkers.
I understand you’re only 4 and have real fears of darkness, monsters, and the idea of being alone. Believe me, I get it. Just a few short weeks ago, your dad and I were convinced that the odd noises from the washing machine were a menacing intruder. When he bravely ventured out to confront this supposed villain, my heart sank, and I wished I had a comforting blanket like yours to hold onto. The darkness is terrifying. Strange sounds are unsettling.
But here’s the reality: those nighttime terrors will haunt you for life. None of us are as brave as we pretend to be.
That said, we need to establish a new sleeping arrangement.
Your grandparents? They were absolute legends. They managed four children — that’s four full childhoods filled with nightmares, scary thunderstorms, and midnight cuddles — with a grace I struggle to replicate. I’m trying my best, I really am! But no one warned me about this level of chaos.
I don’t know where you learned your starfish technique, but let me tell you, it doesn’t exactly accommodate two adults and one small child in a queen-size bed. I could endure the sliver of mattress if it meant a peaceful night’s sleep.
Unfortunately, we seem to live in a world where starfish flail like they’re caught in an imaginary ocean current, constantly on the move. They have an uncanny ability to latch onto anything in their vicinity — and by anything, I mean me. Dads, however, seem to have a magical immunity. Explain that.
Sometimes it’s the starfish that sneaks in. Other times, I wake up to a shadowy figure looming over me, and when I scream in shock, it’s always followed by the guilt of letting you crawl into my bed, since my terrified shriek makes you burst into tears. Whether you’re a flailing starfish or a ghostly figure, it’s utterly exhausting.
Sweetheart, I love you dearly. You are my everything. But if I have to peel your sticky, sweaty toes off my face more than once a night, I might just transform into a gremlin by morning — and not the cute one, either. Nobody wants that.
I get it — I’m not entirely innocent in this scenario. I’ve let this nightly routine fester, thanks to my less-than-stellar willpower. So yes, I admit it: I’m guilty.
Please know this: I love you so much that the idea of denying you comfort amid your fears is unimaginable, even at the expense of my own comfort. The truth is, while I long for a return to restful sleep, I also recognize that these precious moments won’t last forever.
So yes, I want the starfish out of my bed. Perhaps we could find a compromise, like a sleeping bag on the floor? Just a thought. But remember, my dear child, you will never have to face loneliness or darkness alone. You can always find solace with your parents… until you grow up and that washing machine starts making weird noises again. Then, well, good luck with that.
With love,
Gremlin Mommy
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Summary:
This heartfelt letter humorously addresses the struggles of bedtime with a young child, highlighting the challenges of sharing a bed with a starfish sleeper while expressing a mother’s love and desire for a peaceful night’s sleep.