The Last of my Babies

The last of my babies sleeps on my body. Every night, when I lay my head on my pillow and pull the covers over my body, she usually worms her way to my armpit so that my arm must go either under her or at an awkward angle over and around her head. An awkward angle that any cosleeping parent knows well. Some nights, she is directly on my chest with her head wedged into my neck in such a way I'm surprised I don't wake up with a crick in my neck. And some nights, like tonight, she's tossed and turned and now lays with her head snuggled into my soft belly.

I complain every night.

I like my space when I sleep. I am a tummy sleeper. But, I deal with it and try to move my body slowly into a comfortable position for me while still not disturbing her.

It doesn't usually work.

I usually end up back in some contorted position just to keep her happy so she can nurse.

I really should start insisting she sleep in her own bed. I really should night wean her. All the boys were night weaned and in their own beds, at least part time, by this age.

But she's my last baby.

The last little one that will fit her body into mine, pace her breath with mine. The last little one who will warm my bed with her furnace of a body. The last little one who will reach out calling "mummeee" in her cute baby voice in the dark of night.

So no.

I won't listen to the shoulds.

I won't feel badly for holding on to this last part of babyhood.

Maybe I'll night wean her soon, maybe I won't. Maybe she'll sleep in her own bed soon, maybe not. But I won't force it. Doing those things doesn't guarantee me a better sleep. And there's nothing better than waking up in the morning to a toddler kiss and smiles.

And if I'm very careful, and smell just right, in the dark of night I can still catch a faint whiff of that wondrous baby smell.