The Backstory: We have shared our bed in one way or another with our kids since we first had them. I have many fond memories of snuggling up to our babies when they were newborns and being very comforted by the sounds of their breathing. We have enjoyed not having to hike out to another room when the baby monitor squawks. I have fond pleasant memories of fragrant warm baby bodies lying peaceful and still between Hannah and me. Later, as each has grown up, we have graduated them to sleeping in their own room. Frequently Inevitably, however, we seem to end up with one or more visitors in the morning. This has not been too much of a problem until recently, when a developments with a certain son of mine have soured the experience.
You see, everyone but me in my family suffers from a bizarre phenomenon relating to body temperature. My dear wife, I noticed not long after marrying her, can actually make her feet get colder than the ambient air temperature, summer or (especially) winter. She has passed this skill on to our children, and the oldest has discovered that his Daddy's tummy is a nice warm place to out his feet.
Well, nice warm Daddy can only take so much of this before it becomes a problem. Things came to a head last week when I was awoken by cold feet at 3:00 in the morning and couldn't get back to sleep. I began to be very grumpy, and I threatened outright banishment if another incident should occur.
Are you surprised to hear that another incident did occur? No, reader, I imagine you are not. Did I have a very stern talk (yea even too stern) with my guilty son? Was I full of righteous indignation? Yes, I did, and yes, I was. It is after all my bed, and I should have dominion over it. Therefore, the matter was simple: no more getting into Daddy's bed. From now on he will go to sleep in his own room and stay there. Case closed. No buts. Go to sleep.
Well, if you know my son at all, you know that he is a negotiator and is very persistent. In the present case, his persistent negotiation was only making me angry. The conversation was going downward, fast. I was about to employ a nuclear "That's final" and walk out of the room when he issued his ultimatum. I had stood up to leave when he hurled his feet against the door, slamming it shut. His eyes were blazing as he said, "No! You can't leave my room until we've come up with a solution we're both happy with!"
(Deep breath.)
You see, he really doesn't like to be alone at night. (Can I blame him really?) And I really don't like to have squirmy cold feet put on my tum. He suggested sleeping on a pallet on the floor in my room. Who am I to squelch such negotiating skills? And we could both be happy with that.
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