My children have always slept in their own beds, except for the nights when a nightmare or fever would have them finding comfort next to me, but come morning, our bed was always where morning hugs, snuggles, and giggles could be found. With each child jockeying for space and position, “I want to be in the middle”, having a bed full was always a measure of happiness and affection. Of course children do get older, and the times when they find their way to Mom and Dad’s bed in the mornings are fewer and fewer. That’s only to be expected. So when it happened this morning, I knew to treasure it and to hold those few moments tightly.
I remember sneaking into my own parents’ bed when I was little. Sometimes it was after a nightmare. On those nights I always wanted to be on the edge near Mom’s side of the bed. I never chose the middle as I hated feeling “squooshed”, but I well recall Mom’s arms around me securing my spot. There were also mornings when I’d join Mom and Dad as they rested in bed talking. I kept this tradition going even as I grew older. When I was a teenager my Dad would teasingly joke, “Are you ever going to outgrow this? Are you going to be married bringing your children into bed with you someday?” He would soon learn THAT was what I had planned all along. I was easily into my twenties with at least two of my three children in tow when we’d sneak into their bedroom on occasion while visiting at camp. I remember my Dad sighing with feigned exasperation and my Mom laughing as both of them quickly made room for us all.
There is little that offers more comfort and security than the warmth and love found within a parent’s bed. I am grateful that at ages 12, 16, and 19, my children still occasionally find their way to me at the start of the day. It may not happen as often as it did when they were small but it still happens, and when it does, everything seems right with the world.
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