This was the song I was rudely awoken to at 6.30 am this morning, folks. My 3 year old son, Nate, had crept into our bed, natch’, along with the complete cast of Toy Story.
Trying to hold my reluctant leg a few inches up off our bed, Nate had decided to fashion it into a limbo stick for Woody, Buzz, Jessie and Rex. They were having a right old time. Slinky was sitting this one out. Lucky Slinky.
A version of this happens every morning. Mr H and I have now become accustomed to Nate’s unique, loud and sometimes painful method of waking us up. Yesterday, there was no limbo dancing under covers, but there was a plastic truck being driven over my body, with Woody in the driving seat.
Alongside the ‘beep beeps, oh no, I’m stuck, quick lets go before the monster gets us,’ he told us both over and over, ‘I hungry. It’s morning time. GETUPPPPP mama and dada!’Amelia, my 5 year old daughter, is a different kettle of fish altogether. When she wakes up, she quietly comes in to our bedroom, desperately trying to hold onto her slumber. She snuggles into me and there are never any demands for food or limbo dancing, just the need for spooning.
Night and day, our two.
I reckon, that since the children came into our lives, we’ve had either one or them, or both, pretty much in our beds every night, in some shape or form. Or it certainly feels like that! Amelia has come out the other side now, sleeping in her own room every night. But Nate is right in the middle of the stage where he can see no lawful reason why mama and dada’s bed shouldn’t be his.
He genuinely looks puzzled when we try to explain to him, that he has a bedroom for a reason. It’s not just a place for Woody and Buzz to hangout while he’s in play school. But, every night, while he goes to sleep in his own room, somehow or other, he finds his way into us at some point.
And while, I can’t deny that I don’t enjoy the snuggles and kisses and love that pours my way from the smallies when they sleep with us, it’s not all good.
Because sleeping with a three year old is like sleeping with an octopus.
Limbs seem to multiply by the hour. Both Mr H and I will swear blind that we both had dozens of arms and legs poking into our aching backs and faces all night long. Even in sleep, our little man, finds it impossible to stay still. This little octopus is splashing about, up, down, around, constantly, making sure that both Mr H and I both get to enjoy a right jab or left hook!
Amelia was always a more considerate bedmate, that’s if you could get over the fact that she always kicked the duvet off, leaving you shivering on a postage stamp size part of the super king bed.
Nowadays, we have developed a tag team effort to get our days started. Bleary eyed, Mr H gets up, usually with Nate on his shoulders, ‘Piggy back daddy, piggy back!’ and sorts out weetabix, sticks the kettle on for our first caffeine fix of the day, while I try to gently coax Amelia awake.
The odd time, when we feel like torturing ourselves, Mr H and I will take a trip down memory lane and remember our John and Yoko bed-in days, wiping tears from our eyes, as we fondly reminisce. BC, (before children), Saturdays were always bed-ins. A chance to recharge our batteries, from our busy weeks, reconnect with each other, sleep, cuddle, love.
Mr H would nip to the shops for the weekend newspapers and I’d make bagels, filled with sausages, bacon and relish. And we’d bed-in for the day, rising late that afternoon, ready to tackle the rest of the weekend and indeed the following week with renewed enthusiasm.
Five odd years into this motherhood malarkey, there’s one truth I know now. Alongside the life transforming joy of being a parent, the sticky kisses & I love you mamas, theres a toll to be paid. And that toll is exhaustion. Simple as. Because when you are a parent, there’s little chance to recharge batteries, the days of bed-ins are over. These little people are our sole responsibility.
We are privileged, we are blessed and most of the time there is nowhere else we’d rather be.
But boy oh boy, sometimes, it’s exhausting. The kind of exhaustion that makes every bone in our body shudder in disbelief that we would chose to put ourselves through this voluntarily .
There’s another truth I know too. When these midnight visits from our smallies stop, which they will, while my body will be grateful, my heart will break just a little.
Carmel Harrington is a writer & bestselling author of Beyond Grace’s Rainbow and The Life You Left.