This bed is my bed, that bed is your bed

I stumbled onto another fight on Facebook (remember the last one was about moms having a life?). I learned a lesson and decided not to participate in this one, which was raging on several different status updates.

This one was about family beds.

I want to say one thing up front and loud and clear: IF you sleep in a family bed, I AM NOT JUDGING. (Shocking, right?) There are a lot of things that are none of my business--your checking account balance, your spouse's pet names, how long you think leftovers are edible, your comfort level with mildew in your shower--and sleeping with or without your kid is one of those things.

By posting this, I only ask that you extend the same courtesy.

I have been reading in a flood of momblogs, parenting blogs, and tree-hugging, love thy mother, we are allonelife blogs, that a family bed is the only way to go. That putting my child in a crib alone from the age of 1 minute is a cruel yet easy way to turn him into a black trench-coat wearing sociopath.

These articles paint me as the antichrist of moms: apparently, I sit in the vastness of my king bed's unused space, laughing like an evil genius at my child's piteous crying. Alone, sad, and miserable in his giant crib, his brain and soul are being malformed with every moment. I, on the other hand, should have my parent license revoked for ignoring his desperate need to be near me every second of his life.

I will concede that I value my personal space more than the average human being. I hated pregnancy because I had a giant parasite sitting on my bladder and punching my lung for 3/4 of a year. So, it's true that I may be at an emotional disadvantage with my children. I don't like crowds, I don't like it when strangers feel comfortable enough to touch me, and I really don't like it when my kids feel the need to hang off of me all the time.

After 9 months of of having my body transformed into a Macy's Parade balloon, I was admittedly not eager to bring that little sucker into the bed with me. When the kids transitioned out of cribs, I had the luxury of buying them each queen sized beds. Now, if they are sick or have nightmares or want a little cuddle, I can accommodate those needs and then boogie on back to my own bed when done. I don't have to try to fold up onto a toddler or twin bed to soothe, read stories to, or snuggle. But, be sure that the moment the fever is lowered, the books is closed, or the boy is asleep, I am out of that bed as fast as I can stealthily go.

Kids are hot little furnaces, they kick, they gnash their teeth, they flail their arms, they talk, whimper and whine, and frequently wind up perpendicular to the pillows when they sleep. It's like sleeping with a Wild Thing. On vacations, or other times when I'm forced to co-sleep, I have awoken with feet in my kidneys, inexplicable soreness, feet and hands in my face, and general malaise from a lack of rest. Always after these experiences, I am eager to return to my blissful temperpedic; M can jump on the bed and not even spill my wine. Perfect!

So, no. I have never slept in the same bed as my child unless unreasonable hotel/cruise rates required it. Am I a bad parent? I don't think so. When they were babies and cried in their cribs, I retrieved them, rocked them, soothed them, and stuck them back in their cribs. I wasn't a horrible ogre who ignored heart wrenching wails and let them gut it out alone. I loved them, but I gave them the space I would want.

The boys are now school aged, and have never had anxiety about leaving me or their dad for a day at school. They know that we will always be there for them, and that if they fail in any way, we are here to console them, and cheer them on again. I resent that family-bedders are telling me that, somehow, my children are suffering from that lack of closeness. Why does different have to be worse?

I am SURE there are benefits to the family bed. Those were just not benefits that outweigh the cons for our family. AND THAT'S OKAY. My kids are not suffering, I promise. PLEASE STOP TELLING ME TO DO IT YOUR WAY. I'm not telling you to do it mine.

A two person limit per bed worked for us. It may not work for you. Please don't lecture me, criticize me, or tell me how cruel I am.

This bed is big enough for all of us.

The Diet of the Lambs

The posts seem to only happen monthly these days. Partly, it's summer, and getting two brain cells to cooperate seems impossible. Second, it's summer and getting two kids to cooperate and give me 5 minutes alone seems impossible. Third, it's summer, and--oh, hell--I dunno.

I'm currently depressed over the return of my weight. Apparently, it's summer, and the only things I CAN get to cooperate are gin and tonic, bourbon and Coke, and vodka and lemonade. Fortunately, or unfortunately--as the case may be--those spirits find themselves mixing just fine.

Unfortunately, they're building an inner tube around my waist. Oh, well. I can starve again in the winter. Upon very careful study, I have decided that I need a getaway to one of those fat farms. Like The Biggest Loser, only less yelling.

I want to be pampered while I work out. So, in exchange for a near-death experience on the treadmill, I'd like an hour-long massage. This would be motivating. Fact is, a day alone would be motivating. It's hard to be sober and thin when surrounded by kids and their greasy snacks. Children are like the grit and dirt that irritate an oyster to make a pearl. Only the pearl isn't a precious gemstone, but a giant cocktail at the end of the day. Fine...it's a crappy metaphor.

So, at my fat farm, I'm going to wake up early and eat a nutritionally sound breakfast. Then, I'm going to train for 4 hours. Then, a nutritionally sound lunch and training. Then, a very small dinner, some form of spa reward for my hard work and then sleep. Like a movie star in a detox program: I need coddling.

Of course, the side benefits would be temporary asylum from the kids, proper training and encouragement, and of course, skinny thighs!

Naturally, you're thinking this is WAY to excessive for me. Too much luxury, too much pampering, too much indulgence. So, I propose an alternative: The Buffalo Bill Diet.

Remember Buffalo Bill? He was the villain in the Silence of the Lambs, Clarice. He kidnapped fatties, kept them in a hole, lowered lotion to keep their skin supple, starved them 'til their skin hung lose on their bodies, slayed them, and then made himself a transgendered skin-suit out of their remains.

So, what I'm telling you is this: if a psychotic killer wants to kidnap me & starve me, I'm okay with that as long as I get to moisturize. Rather than die, though, I'd like to escape and live to have some dinner with some fava beans and a nice Chianti.