It started innocently enough. I had a colicky baby who wouldn’t sleep unless he was curled up in my arms. I was breastfeeding. Add that to the sleepless nights and angry baby syndrome I was dealing with, and I had the perfect recipe for a “spoiled” baby who developed an entitlement to my bed.
My little bed sharers are killing me slowly in my own space
Fast forward 2 additional kids and many years later and through this type of middle-of-the-night parenting, I have been enabling a bunch of king-sized bed loving, comforter stealing, middle of the night spleen-kicking bed hogs. And it’s killing me slowly. I’m at my breaking point, and I’m ready to reclaim my territory.
After all, I did share my body, my blood supply, my breasts, and my entire energy source with each of them for 9 months straight. And that was before they could even take over square footage in my HOUSE.
Since the day they were born my entire home has been overrun with their crap.
From pack n plays and baby swings to now LEGOs and princess gowns. I can’t even sit on the toilet without some bath toy or child’s hooded bath towel staring me in the face. My car is loaded with happy meal toys, juice box straws, and crumbs (mostly theirs).
I find their clothes, their toys, their scents on EVERYTHING around here and that’s just the way it is when you have kids. I love my children. I really do. But when it comes to sharing my space with them, I feel it’s only reasonable that after eight years of allowing them to invade every inch of my existence, I get my small 11×11 bedroom all to myself in return.
I’m still waiting to get my own space back
Not only have my kids marked their territory all up in my bed (pee included, although I now have a pricey mattress cover for THAT) but I have empowered them with the tools to manipulate me further into infiltrating my room COMPLETELY.
And during all hours of the day AND night. After years of allowing this absurdity to continue, I always assumed (maybe naively) that they would eventually grow out of this midnight madness. As I wake up on my sliver-sized portion of MY king sized bed with a shopkins in my ass crack, I’m still waiting.
I thought we would be transitioning towards LESS time in my room as the years passed, but I now have chapstick that is just for them in my nightstand. I find their clothes or toys piled up in a corner of my room. I lift up my blankets to find their pajamas or their socks. I could go on, but I think you get the point.
It all started because I wanted to be able to cuddle my kids, what mother doesn’t?
I couldn’t bear the idea of them wanting or needing me in the night, and as much as I hate cliches, they WILL one day grow up and decide they don’t want to be anywhere near me or any space I happen to occupy. So, I was trying to soak up my snuggles with them for as long as humanly possible.
But I’ve finally hit the breaking point of that “humanly possible” threshold.
I reached it and surpassed it long ago. My kids have their own room. They also have a playroom, the living room, a separate area in the basement that is entirely dedicated to their toys and video games.
There is a couch and another BED DOWN THERE AND EVERYTHING! These kids are definitely NOT lacking in options to spread their shit out all over the house and play or watch TV, and yet, they still have a strong preference for MY bedroom.
I guess what I’m getting at is, although I’m fully aware of the fact that I single-handedly created these little boundariless monsters, I can’t handle this shit anymore.
I need my own space. I need a place to retreat to when my anxiety or stress is through the roof.
A place where I can look around and feel calm and in control because everything I’m surrounded by is mine, it’s tidy and did I mention it’s MINE? Instead, I walk into my room to find my once made bed is now unmade and my blanket has been pushed aside as someone had put their dolls to sleep on my pillow and they are not to be disturbed {insert EYE ROLL}.
If you think stepping on a LEGO is painful, try laying down on one and having it work it’s way into the spaces in your spine as you desperately try to wiggle your way out of the landmines of crap you didn’t know were hiding under your comforter until they were stabbing you in the back, literally.
There are nights I retreat to the living room like a tired, sad puppy tail tucked between my legs and everything with my pillow and blanket in hand just so I can try to get a couple hours to knock out before the day starts.
It’s bad enough that in sleep I can’t even have my own space, but when I’m awake I can’t anymore either, and this is where I struggle.
How am I going to fix this? I have no idea. I keep telling myself they can’t crawl in bed with me forever. And that is *kinda* true. I don’t know any high schoolers who still crawl in bed with mommy or daddy in the middle of the night, so at least I have that to look forward to.
Meanwhile, I pray that they will grow out of this before graduation day. Otherwise, how do I reclaim my space?
I’ve started trying to use my room as my office. I sit on my bed to work, and I tell my kids that while I’m doing so, these four walls are OFF LIMITS. I’d like to say this works wonders, but it doesn’t. It creates fights and tantrums, and since I lack the willpower to stand up to a preschooler, I give in. Thus teaching them that if they put up the fight, just a liiiiitle longer mom will fold. She always does.
So maybe I should just start with getting all of their crap out of my room and pray that works us in the direction of finally cutting this cord. Because mama needs her beauty rest, and her HALF of the bed back.