We have broken the golden rule this past weekend – well, to be precise when I say “we”, I actually mean The Husband – by letting our boy partake in a sleepover in our bed.

Ok, to be fair to The Husband, we had little choice Sunday night gone, when the taboo event transpired. It was a particularly cold Autumn evening, and we were staying in the cottage at Sheree & Grants. Whether Harrison was cold, frightened, unaware of his surroundings, or all of the above, he put in such a repeat performance of tears and jeers that it was deemed necessary by The Husband to bring the boy into our bed. Our DOUBLE bed. So, yes, quite the cosy little arrangement, especially when one considers how my son likes to sprawl. And when he discovered I was in the bed too, and not just his beloved father (who is the only person he seems to have eyes for at present), well, there was much kicking in Mummy’s back and howls of protest. Often I was rewarded with an unconscious cuddle, but mostly I feel I was the third wheel in the bedding arrangement. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact I was sporting an unfriendly head cold so often had the break the silence with sniffles, sneezes and coughs that I became a target to be taken out!

As dawn rose, and four hours of broken sleep later, we gave up and got the day underway. However, some little seed had sure enough been planted and, come morning sleep time for Harrison, and his porta cot again morphed into some cage from hell and this time he demanded to be cuddled to sleep in his cousin’s big boy bed. Being the weary and unwell Mummy I was that day, I duly complied with lying down, just even to get myself 15 minutes rest. But Harrison, still sporting a snotty nose himself, was snoring so loudly I was kidding myself if I thought I might sneak in a nanna nap in his midst. Okay, so I was satisfied with the level of enthusiasm shown this time by Harrison at having to share some personal bed space, but I gather it was more to do with the fact there was no Daddy present so I made a fair second choice…

So then, to the early hours of this morn…once more the Husband went forth and returned with an unsettled son to our cosy bed abode. All was blissfully still for the first 15 minutes, however I was silently bracing myself for the onslaught when Harrison discovered my existence in this little arrangement. Eventually I had to cough, and upon doing so, my cover was blown. Cue kicks in the back, and wandering hands poking at my nose, ears and even hooking up my upper lip, dentist style, and I knew sleep would be a forgone conclusion.

So that you don’t deem me unnecessarily cruel and unkind as to not want to share a bed with the baby boy I so adore, I concede at times I secretly relished the snuggle aspect (on the occasions I was granted such cuddles) or when you inhale their intoxicatingly fresh smell, and find little fingers curling around yours in search of comfort. But teaching a child to sleep (and on his own!) is one of parenthood’s greatest challenges so to take a backwards step now would be foolish on our part. But you do what you have to at the time…

Come 6am this morning, however, it was time to play tough mummy and put a stop to this unintentionally instated sleeping arrangement. Naturally met with howling frustration and resentment, I eventually won the battle and got the boy back in his own bed. And you know what, he then slept til 8am!!!!!! Job well done Mummy, I’d say…. Now all that remains to be seen after tonight is if I have also won the war…