Bed Sharing, etc.

I will be straight-up from the start of this post: I am a breastfeeding mother who shares a bed with my baby and my husband, who has relegated himself to a small slice of the bed.  If you are not interested in reading about the issues that arise from the first sentence of today’s post, then do not continue reading.

I’m not sure what inspired me to share our bed with Oren, soon-t0-be nine month old baby/toddler.  Maybe it was that I learned how to breastfeed while lying down, which is totally comfortable.  (Why I didn’t figure it out with Juniper is beyond me: it would have saved a lot of heartache and time.)  Maybe it was that, while lying down and feeding him, I could fall asleep.  Maybe it was that, while lying down and feeding him and sleeping, I was too lazy to throw him back into the pack’n’play next to the bed.

When Oren was still waking up 4+ times a night, it took a lot of energy to 1) wake myself up enough to turn on the light, 2) haul myself out of bed, 3) shuffle across the floor, avoiding burp cloths and diapers, 4) wrestle and pick up a wriggling, wailing baby, 5) trudge back to bed, avoiding the same dangers as in #3, 6) correctly position myself and feed Oren, 7) try not to fall asleep, 8) haul myself (and Oren) back out of bed, trying not to wake him back up while I placed him gingerly back in the pack’n’play, and 9) turn off the light and try to fall back asleep.  I will remark that this was the easy process.  Complications invariably arose: spitting up, pooping (him, not me), Oren waking up as I put him back in the pack’n’play, etc.  You get the idea.

It is so, So, SO much easier to do this when Oren wakes up: 1) roll over, 2) feed Oren, and 3) fall asleep (both of us).

HOWEVER.  Oren is close to nine months old.  Oren is bigger than he used to be.  Oren is much more mobile and stronger than he was even a few weeks ago.  My husband (who has been gracious enough to bed-share even though it means less cuddle time with me and more elbow-jabbing from Oren) is starting to suggest, with more regularity and insistence, that it may be time to move Oren into the vacant crib in Juniper’s room.

I’m also not entirely sure how often a nine-month-old is supposed to be eating during the night.  I’ve heard the various arguments about  night feedings, and my stance is that Oren can still eat at night if he wants to.  I work during the day, and this gives him a chance to catch up on missed daytime nursings/cuddles.

I am extremely apprehensive about moving Oren from our bed to the crib.  Oren is our last (planned) baby.  We only wanted two, and we have them.  Somehow, by moving him to the crib, I admit that he is not my little bitty baby anymore.  I lose his babyhood sooner than I want.  I’m not fully ready to let go.

Of course he will still rely on me.  After all, he IS a baby.  I understand that my apprehensiveness does not spring from logic, but I can’t help the way I feel.  I am going to keep him in the bed for as long as Adam will let me, or until it becomes too uncomfortable for us.

On a slightly different but still related note, I am SO over pumping every day.  I have 11 more pumping days, and then the summer frees me of the pump.  By the time fall comes around, Oren will be  a year old and able to go most of a day without nursing, so that means no more pumping during EVERY free minute I have at work.

Thanks for reading, friends.  I don’t ask for your criticism about bed sharing; I understand that most baby books advise against it.  However, as a parent, you discover what works best for you and your family.  This is what works for us, and I love, love, love it.  I wish I had had the confidence to move Juniper into our bed when she was a baby.  Don’t knock it until you try it, and always do it safely.  I sleep with a toddler bed rail on our queen size bed, since we don’t want to put our mattress on the floor.  Adam serves as the bed rail on the other side.  (Another reason I love him.)

I can almost taste the summer

The last few weeks of school are always treacherous for high school seniors, those infected with the rapidly-spreading senioritis and those who remain, for the moment, zealous about grades.

I contend that the last few weeks of school are equally treacherous for the oft-scorned educator.  (Scorn is definitely a symptom of senioritis.)

But this post is not about students-who-are-haters; rather, it is a prose ode to the fact that, unbeknownst to my students, I welcome the coming summer break with as much as (and probably more) enthusiasm than they do.

Whether my students see me as The Prom Grinch (a title I embraced last week before the prom fog finally lifted) or as The Oppressor Who Will Not Let Me Pass Just Because I Missed Fourteen Days Of Class, I am still a kid who looks forward to snow days, spring breaks, and summers off.  My heart skipped more than a few beats when snow days were declared after the Remarkable Blizzard of 2011 in early February.  I literally could not feel my toes; I was so happy.

But I digress: back to the treachery.

My students are enchanted by the warm weather, claiming that it is far too nice outside to come to school.  They are extremely disenchanted with the windowless classrooms of our school building and insist on wearing their short shorts and white tank tops and shirts that would make me self-conscious even if I was wearing one with my husband and we were alone.  (I guess they can also call me The Too Much Skin Grinch.)

Consequently, when one teaches students who have already been shown to be chronically truant, one becomes more than concerned about the status of said students when there are only eight beautiful, sunny days left of class.

But who is concerned for me?

I, too, crave the sunshine and the warm June air.  I, too, want to wear clothing that covers less (but more than what they wear–yeesh!) and allows more of that sun and air to penetrate my pallid skin.  I, too, wish for even a tiny window to let the light into my cave, er, classroom.

But I have a fate worse than that of my students.  At least they have the option to hastily complete essays and PowerPoint presentations and escape to the outside; I will have to tether myself to my desk, where I will be forced to wade through their grammatically incorrect and improperly organized writings.  (I should mention that, during this time, my children will be wailing at me because they want to go outside, too.)

Perhaps I exaggerate; however, the point I am attempting to make is that I crave summer just as much as my students do.