It is official. The baby owns the master bedroom.
It is her domain.
We are guests only.
So we don’t do co-sleeping. Not because we choose not to. No. In fact we would LOVE little snuggles with the babyboos but neither of them like our bed at all! Gigi never liked it. Betsy just wants to sit up and then leave. So we don’t do co-sleeping.
Once Gigi fell asleep with me in the morning for an extra snooze in the big bed. Oh so lovely!! I barely breathed. I just held her for forty minutes. It was gorgeous.
Betsy is what we call ‘too well up’ to be caught out that way. If she has your attention at all, playing must happen and you won’t pull the wool over her eyes by catching her out having a sneaky nap in your arms. No sir! Not this eight month old!
The babies have both slept in their own cots in our room. Gigi graduated to her own room at about fourteen months. She was very ready for it but me? Not so much. Heartbroken! We had to move her as it was us disturbing her perfect slumbers with our cumbersome ‘going to bed’ noises despite the attempts to be oh so quiet, ssshh, Björk style.
She loved her new space very quickly.
So did we.
I did not realise how BIG our room was. We played Giant Steps. Coughed OUT LOUD. Talked above a whisper. Actually flushed the loo.
Talked to each other!
It was like a second honeymoon. I felt no guilt as remember: Gigi was happier where she was.
There was just one thing…I was about three months pregnant. It was brilliant to be expecting. It was just that we knew that ourselves and ‘the room’ were on borrowed time.
So here we are. Eight months into Betsy’s magical little life. The room is all hers. We are mere guests. Mere guests and let us be honest. Hindrances.
I don’t want to move her until she is a year old. However…
We are walking on eggshells every night!
This is a light sleeper, once woken almost impossible to get back to sleep without two hours at least of song and dance. So what do we do?
We tiptoe. We shush each other. We brush our teeth in the kitchen. We use the loo downstairs, praying the flush noise doesn’t travel. We wait for each other at the top of the stairs so we will only go in once. We now change outside the door. Once this would have meant instant passion but now we are far too afraid to wake the baby! Bundles of clothes lie outside our room door. Our spacious room with a walk in wardrobe is defunct. We leave all on the landing and hanging over the stairs.We turn the handle with all the cautious, tense emotion of an Indiana Jones film, terrified of what may lie behind the darkness. ..
There is no such thing as getting yourself comfortable. Selfish indulgence is what that is. You get into one (quiet) position and you stay there. Phones must be looked at UNDER the duvet only. We are both muttering prayers, stay asleep, stay asleep.
We are just knackered you see. We need the rest too. We stress ourselves to sleep.
So the baby owns the room. We creep about because we love her and want to keep her close for another little while. We won’t misbehaving anytime soon though .
The bed creaks by the way.