Siberian Slumber

I recently read that a mere 14% of families have NEVER allowed a child to sleep in the parental bed. It's hard to imagine: that cold hard "never." But in my humble (and very tired) opinion, those are the smart ones. Of course, they might be the smart ones BECAUSE they've never shared their bed, and instead slept like normal human beings, enjoying full acreage in a nice comfortable bed that they DESERVE, on account of their names are on the mortgage.

This is just another example of that "20-20 hindsight" phenomenon we're always hearing about.

Occasionally my 3-year-old daughter catches us in a weak (or REM) moment and successfully wiles her way into the bed. At best, she sleeps like the crossbar in the letter "H," efficiently relegating each of us to a remote 3-inch swath of mattress, usually with no covers. This is, in my house, referred to as "Siberia."

At worst, sharing with her is like a slow-motion game of pinball.

You see, there's only so much "sleep" allotted to each bed - say for a queen-size like ours, 2 adults' worth. You put a third person there, and the original occupants each only get ½ their sleep allotment. Or less, if the child is a particularly "efficient" sleeper, meaning they kick.

If you bump up the bed population by adding another kid, the original residents may just as well pull out the Parcheesi board, because at that point, a bed of nails would offer a better quality resting opportunity. And any more than two kids, and it's no longer a bed, it's a refugee camp.

The irony being that the more they can deprive you of sleep, the more likely they can con you into letting them repeat the sequence. This is because the reasoning part of your brain KNOWS it needs its rest, so it randomly checks out on you, stranding you to field questions like: "Can I sleep in your bed for the next 20 years" or "Can you chaperone my next 12 class field trips? To the Everglades?" without the benefit of coherent brain activity.

By sheer luck, our daughter ended up with a queen size bed of her own. This is because she's the poor neglected SECOND child. So instead of a coordinated "theme" nursery with hand-painted miniature furniture ensemble, she got the northwest corner of the guestroom, and the drawer above the one where we store our leftover wedding invitations.

In theory, her big bed provides a convenient place for me to flop when she requires all-night maintenance, either by illness, or unrestricted viewing of "Jurassic Park." Unfortunately, having grown accustomed to the space, she pretty efficiently occupies it. And the problem with HER Siberia, is that I get sandwiched against the bed rail, which leaves attractive net-marks on my face to go with the bags under my eyes. Have I mentioned that she talks in her sleep? Actually, she ARGUES in her sleep. Mostly about toy possession, judging from the frequent recurrence her trademark (shrill) "MINE!"

My son is even worse. He snores like a leaf blower. The cat is actually afraid of him.

I think it goes without saying that we don't go camping much.

But I suppose there won't be many more years of this nighttime crowding. Soon I'll be swapping my bed-rail creases for worry lines - which I hear go equally well with dark circles. And magically, these nights of tending the warthog boy and his sister, the amazing somno-litigator, will take on the rosy hue of tender memory.

Or is that brain damage?