Actually, there are a number of reasons (even, dare I say, better more scientific ones than what I'm about to throw down here) why we don't bed share with the littlest ones in our lives.
Here's my 5:42 a.m. story.
I'm actually not necessarily adverse to being awake at 5:42 a.m., but pretty much only if I'm a) by myself, b) wrapped up in a blanket, c) in our recliner, d) drinking coffee--dark roast, of course, e) by myself, f) enjoying the full-blast furnace as the house warms back up from the chill of the night, g) reading, and h) BY MYSELF. I like to be by myself in the morning, ya dig?
This morning, was not one of those mornings. I was in bed. Happily asleep. Warm. Snuggled. Relaxed. My child, however, disagreed with my selfish desires. She decided that "Mommy! I need you!" at around 5:14 a.m. (This is a journey, folks. I'm getting you to 5:42 a.m. Just hang on.) Surely I've mentioned before that child #2 is MY little snuggle bug. Child #1 is DADDY'S little snuggle bug, for which I have been very grateful many a Saturday morning when she has bounced in all awake/alive/alert/enthusiastic at 6:00 a.m. on the nose cause you know she's there in her bed staring at the clock, just waiting for those digits to change to "a 6 on the left" (our household rule). And when she bounds in like a little puppy who needs breakfast RIGHT NOW (!!!), Daddy gets the nod to be her star provider and Mommy smiles grandly (nay, luxuriously?) to herself, rolls over, and goes back to dream-ville. Yet God is one for a good bit of harmless fun, of which I am convinced. What goes around comes around. We had to go and pop out #2, who is every bit my cling-on just as much as #1 has spurned my comforting arms in favor of her dad's skinny ones.
Once in a great while, #1 will snuggle in between us on a Saturday morning and won't insist on breakfast RIGHT NOW (!!!); when she does that, Daddy gets the soft, cuddly end of her, and I get the cold feet kicking me in my back. I can handle it. I mean, my pillow is still all soft, I'm still relaxed, and my down comforter is nothing short of fluffy-warm perfection. (Those ducks and geese know what's what with the down. W-A-R-M.)
Well, all this is to say that by 5:42 a.m. this morning, after 3 combined trips into #2's room to re-tuck her in, to fumble compassionately at her downy head, and to whisper sweet please-go-back-to-sleep-right-now-child nothings in her tender ear, I gave up and advised the boy to just bring her in with us. The day was about to start anyway. Neither of us were going back to sleep. But I wasn't ready to give up my cocoon quite yet. What do you know? I (yes, I!!!) got the soft, cuddly end of the baby and at one point I heard "You're kicking me, not your sister" (who had also joined us by this point). When I say "I got the soft, cuddly end" I really mean, I had a hard, downy baby head repeatedly whacking against my back/shoulders/neck/head area as she shifted and shifted and shifted as kids are wont to do. Blissful dreams, right?
Then she cough/gagged and threw up a little bit in our bed. Delightful.
Why do people do this on purpose? I am truly befuddled.