Day 18: Co-Sleeping Confessions...

My six year old still sleeps in my bed.

There,  I admitted it.  This is the first step, right?

The thing is, we have a problem.  I have a problem, he has a problem.  Unfortunately my problem is a little worse than his when he has an accident and pisses all over me.  That's sort of a bigger problem because nobody should have to wake up drenched in someone else's piss.  Ever.

Okay that hasn't happened for a long time, at least not since he's been six years old anyway.  Piss is disgusting.

So his problem is pissing the bed not wanting to sleep alone, in the dark, in his dark scary room and getting the covers stolen from him, because they all belong to me after all. 

and my problems are: getting pissed on, getting kicked in the back, face and legs and having to hear his teeth grinding.

It's quite obvious who has the disadvantage here.  Getting pissed on pretty much takes the win.

There is just no arguing that.

Having to listen to him grind his teeth comes in at a close second place.

The thing is, I have no desire to have him sleep in his own bed.  I think with a little hard work and a cute night light with some beloved character on it, it could be a pretty easy transition for him.

but I'm afraid.

Like really afraid.

I am afraid of fires and not being able to reach him. 
I am afraid of a gas leak in our stove and because his room is closer to the stove he would die first.
I am afraid of burglars and kidnappers stealing him away.
I am afraid of earthquakes, tornadoes and hurricanes and not being able to reach him in time. 
I am afraid of not hearing him breathe (and grind his teeth) beside me. 

The world is a pretty terrifying place. There are a lot of bad things that happen. We have had some bad stuff happen to us, and I know I wouldn't be able to handle anything else.

So I keep him close.

but I know it is wrong but selfish me can't let go. 

and I tried to get help, but right away I was given a ridiculous diagnosis, which I still can laugh about now because that really isn't who I am, and I was given pills that made me not who I am at all.

So I put an end to that, the diagnosis and the pills.  That diagnosis and those pills are not the answers.  At all.

So last night when I came up at dinner how six year olds shouldn't be sleeping with their mommy, my heart started to race.  I watched as his grandma set him up with a special night light and set up rewards for him if he slept in his own bed.

When I had finally heard enough I blurted out my secret.

It's my fault he sleeps with me.  He sleeps with me because of gas leaks and fires and earthquakes and bad people in the world.  He sleeps with me so I can reach him, hear his breath and know he's okay, because I know what it's like to wake up one morning and things are not okay, after months and months of waking up hour upon hour each night to make sure things were okay and to wake up one morning and they suddenly were not okay is hard to accept.

I couldn't imagine letting it happen again.

and I watched in amazement when she asked Evilboy where he wanted to sleep.  When he told her he wanted to stay in my bed, even though I steal all the blankets, she took back the night light and put it up "until he needs it".

and I really appreciated it.

There was no judging, no arguing and no telling me what had to be done.  She understood.  She understood something that I thought for sure she would never understand, but she did.

Which really just goes to show that you can't always assume the way people are going to react.  It's not fair to do that.

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