In a perfect world…

Sleep is the currency every parent craves. It is the one topic we can be found most lamenting or celebrating, not to mention dissecting with all the finesse of a forensic investigator. It starts from day dot of parenthood and follows you through until they are old enough to slam the door in your face as you beg them to get out of bed because its midday on the weekend (just quietly I am counting down to those days).

While we initially had a rocky start to sleep (an entire 45 minutes of shut eye the very first night he came home from the hospital) and only slight improvements those first bleak weeks, we eventually found ourselves with a champion sleeper. Sure, he was the king of catnappers during the day and was quite partial to rising with the sun, but I consoled myself with the knowledge “at least he is great at night” so we all felt much more rested for it.

Fast forward to Jan this year, and the dreaded withdrawing his beloved dummy from him event, and it all went supremely pear shaped over night. And we have been yet to regain ground from those early sleep deprived days.

Suddenly everything regarding bedtime became “scary”, or we were informed “my bed is broken” and any notion of self settling has been erased from his memory. Much comfort can apparently only be sourced – at numerous times of the night – in the safety that is mummy and daddy’s bed.

Now, being a bit of a scaredy cat myself, I kinda get it. As a child I’d want to sleep with the lamp on but was told I’d end up burning down the house. I often went in search of parental placation after nightmares but was never allowed in the family bed. And now I know why!

Caught out in the climbing act

Because you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Either the child keeps you awake with the tears and tantrums, or they are allowed in your bed only to stick to you like a magnet and exert their right to sleep at a diagonal angle, usually with a finger flung up your nose thrown in for good measure.

Therefore one of the things I am loving the most about the big beautiful Sealy Posturepedic King Size Ensemble that I won thanks to the their “Sleeping on the Job” competition is that my son literally cannot climb on in on a whim. Yes, mean mummy that I am, I now actually have the choice whether he is able to join us or not and not just wake to find he has invited himself under the covers at some stage during the dead of night.

Needless to say, he is less than impressed. Though he has realised if he drags his step from the bathroom all the way down the hallway he can gain access but he will too forgo the advantage of the surprise attack (dragging that sucker on the tiles would wake the dead!)

See how much I heart thee?

The first morning he came for an early morning cuddle (read: I wasn’t prepared to start my day at 5.15am) further fashioned his disapproval after he automatically turned himself around to scoot off the side as he’d always done. Except that this time he was a far greater height off the ground and ended up taking a bit of a tumble before I could stop him. He then proceeded to announce through his tears “Mummy, I want you to get your little and not scary bed back”. He’d have more luck asking the Pope to acknowledge same sex marriage as I am never ever slipping back on the bedding scale after sleeping in such luxury!

But the good thing too, should I relent (as I am known to do) is that there is room for three should we wish it to be so. To sleep, I need space. And with that extra room the king bed provides I no longer find myself clinging to dear life to the edge of the bed, nor silently fuming that the three of us are wedged in like sardines. So I thank you Sealy; you may well be responsible for rebuilding our much depleted sleep debt!