The Momoir Project

By Karen Bannister

The Big Boy Bed

I lie down beside my son, my large belly protruding toward the bend of his knees. We barely fit together anymore, the crest of my back digging crisply into the side of his blue race car bed. He smiles over at me - my body still a novelty for him, though it wasn’t too long ago that his mouth was at my breast and I was praying he would fall asleep. One year later, as I lie crammed into a crevice, I pray again for his slumber, but in a way that is quite different. I am more relaxed, less anxious, less untrusting and unknowing. With the confidence of one year, I can reach out a hand to caress the contours of his face and smile back with a loving heart.

He sleeps in a “big boy bed” now. The life inside my expanding belly will occupy the white crib my husband has lovingly assembled in the nursery filled with images of childhood fantasy. And he, our big boy, has moved on and out, next door into a car-oasis perfectly pitched to appeal to his new fascinations. But he is still my baby and I feel unable to tear myself from his side when the hour of his bedtime draws near.

Maybe it is the guilt of being away from him all day while he rides the wave and rhythm of daycare. Or maybe it is the sentiment settling in my hormone-mad brain or my sadness over his advancing age. But when he pats the bed beside him and motions for me to lie beside him, I can’t help but oblige even if I don’t fit. Even if caution screams in my mind - the pages of parenting self-help books that litter our bookshelves scream, “No!” because he must fall asleep on his own (if ever he is to grow into an independent adult). Even though I know I am setting a precedent I may actually not be able to follow through on, I  continue to lie beside him and enjoy the soft turn of his mouth and the dance in his eyes that my presence brings. It is an act of selfishness for me - I want his tiny body beside me. I want to whisper goodnight to the soft close of his lids. I want to peel my body from the crevice just as he meets slumber so he may not know the want of me. It is an act of selfishness because in this moment, I feel truly connected and at peace with the tiny life I grew from an idea inside my mind into a whole person with eyes that twinkle and a mouth that jabbers.

Lying together as night falls, we can find a place of respite together - there are no tantrums or unfulfilled expectations. Just the sheer joy of closeness. I am a confident mother here.

I know there will come a day when he won’t want me in his room, never mind in his bed. I know there will come a day – soon - when I won’t have the time or will to lay down with him. So I savour these moments, like links in my armour. I relish the smile, the way he turns over to stare at the ceiling and ultimately, the way he acknowledges my eventual departure with a kiss blown into the night air.

Writing Start: The Big Boy (or Girl) Bed