I wrote a couple of weeks ago about how my wife and I were giving the kids the master bedroom, in an attempt to find some adult space within the confines of our attachment parenting, tiny apartment lives. I ended the post looking forward to the day when we got to lay in bed together again.
I have to admit, when I wrote that, our apartment was filled with boxes, and the day seemed as far off as ever before. We got busy, and then realized that the kids needed a transition time.
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So their beds moved into the big bedroom, but our bed did not move out.
We fell into the daily grind, an IKEA closet broke on us and, well, I started to think that we wouldn't make the move. But then my wife just got out the boxes and put the damn closet together. We Gave Our Kids The Master Bedroom
Within a few hours, we had the room.
And I got nervous.
It's been so long. How would we really like it? Was it too close? Would we actually lose touch because we were no longer forced to get creative when it came to finding those small moments of intimacy?
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Um... the answer is no. Oh my goodness, no. No no no no no. This tiny bedroom feels like the most luxurious hotel. We go in and roll around together. We lay and talk. We hug. We go in by ourselves, leaving the others in the living room to—gasp!—have their own thoughts or do their own thing.
And that space makes us closer, too. I have not one regret about the way we co-slept, or the way we've slept for the past couple years—the mixing and matching of mattresses, and the early mornings and the nursing. Sleeping next to my children is a gift I can never recapture as they get older. But I married my wife because I wanted to lay in bed next to her. I missed that. I missed her. And now, I've got it back. Happily Paying The High Price Of Co-Sleeping