We decided the second night we brought Mason home from the hospital, after a sleepless night of Audrey getting up numerous times to feed him, put him to sleep, lay him down, and then having him wake right back up when he hit the Moses basket, that he would sleep with us. We had read about co-sleeping and all of its benefits during the early months of development and thought that it just made perfect sleep. Theory and actuality, often, take time to meld into the same reality.
The first week of co-sleeping, both Audrey and I would awake as soon as we hit the deeper layers of sleep, fearing a stray arm or rolling over husband were about to land a blow on our new born son (who had remained nameless until week 3). We eventually got over that and worked out a system that kept Mason safely between us and allowed us the gentle, sleeping knowledge, that our son was safe.
We began each evening with Audrey on one side and I on the other side of the bed, with Mason, swaddled tightly, in between us. Being that he was born on June 10 in North Carolina, sheets & blankets weren't needed nearly as much as the AC unit nestled in our bedroom window. After a while, to avoid ever having to put him on the outside of the bed for more convenient feedings, Audrey devised the plan where she would wake me, we would switch sides, clamoring quietly over him, and she would feed from the other side.
As he grew through those first few weeks, he began feeding less during the night, requiring most nights only one switch from Audrey and I. We could have gotten a co-sleeper device, something that attaches to the side of the bed and acts as a sort of extension, with a wall. We could have gotten a guard that inserts in between the mattress and box spring, creating a mini wall on one side to catch him, should he role. We could have done more expensive things, but one of our mantras from the get go was that we wanted to raise him right, and with as little "stuff" as parentally possible.
Even now, nearly four months after that sleepless night, I still wake up often (see "I don't sleep as much anymore"). And when I do, I turn over and kiss him, and watch how, both of them unconscious, he and Audrey mimic one another in their sleep. Both heads cocked to one side, one arm above their heads, one arm to the side. The way Audrey cradles him into her with her arm around him, protecting him, ensuring his safety throughout the night. And in these little things, these arms cradling, I am made aware of what we as parents, what most every parent, wants is to raise him right, to make sure he has safety, a base from which he can do everything else, to make sure he is loved, so that he, too, can love and grow and learn and be the best everything he can be.
And in thinking this, watching them sleep through the dim light of the night light, amidst the scuttle of Zola's dreaming clicks of her claws on the floor, against the dull whir of the neighborhoods evening sounds, I am aware that it is in little ways, in these shared slumbers, these cradled arms, these midnight feedings in bed, that we are building this safety and in turn, raising him right.
