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- Hey Kid, Get Out of My Bed!
by Jamie Turner
Updated: Sep. 13, 2016
Originally Published: Sep. 13, 2016
My dear, sweet little one, let’s get straight to the point: You’re driving me absolutely bonkers.
I know you’re only four and have some very real fears about the dark, monsters lurking around, and being alone. Believe me, I understand. Just a few nights ago, your dad and I were convinced that a slightly off-balance washing machine was actually a terrifying intruder. When he bravely ventured out to confront that supposed menace, I honestly didn’t think he’d make it back. In that moment, I wished I had a comforting blanket to snuggle with, just like you. The darkness is daunting. Strange noises are awful.
But here’s the deal: the things that go bump in the night will haunt you until the end of your days. None of us are as fearless as we try to be.
That said, we need to come up with a new sleeping arrangement.
To be candid, your grandparents were absolute legends. They raised four kids—yes, four entire childhoods filled with nightmares, stormy nights, and midnight cuddles—with a grace I can only aspire to. I try my best! Yet, I wasn’t prepared for this level of nightly chaos. Nobody gave me a heads up!
I’m not sure where you picked up that starfish sleeping technique, but let me tell you, it’s not exactly conducive to fitting two adults and one pint-sized person into a queen-size bed. I could manage a tiny sliver of mattress if it meant I could at least get a somewhat restful night’s sleep.
Unfortunately, that’s not the reality we’re living in. No, it seems that starfish-style sleepers must flail about as if caught in an imaginary current, their bodies constantly in motion. They must have developed some kind of radar that locks onto anything in their vicinity. And by anything, I mean anything called “Mom.” Dads, on the other hand, appear to have a mysterious immunity. Care to explain that one?
Some nights it’s the starfish that shows up. Other times, it’s just a shadowy figure standing silently over me until I wake up in a panic. Even then, I feel guilty letting you crawl into bed with me, especially when my terrified scream causes you to burst into tears and accuse me of scaring you. Regardless of how you choose to appear, it’s completely exhausting.
My dear child, I love you. You are my universe. But, for the love of all that is holy, if I have to peel your sticky, sweaty feet off my face more than once a night, you’ll find yourself dealing with a gremlin instead of a mother come morning— and not the cute kind. Nobody wants that!
I know I’m not entirely innocent in this scenario. Experts and self-help books claim I’ve allowed this nightly routine to flourish due to my less-than-stellar willpower. So… guilty as charged, I suppose?
Just know this: I love you so much that the thought of denying you comfort in the face of genuine fear is unimaginable, even if my own comfort takes a hit. The reality is that while part of me looks forward to sleeping soundly again, I also recognize that these tender moments are fleeting.
Yes, I want the starfish out of my bed. Maybe we could meet halfway with a sleeping bag on the floor? Just brainstorming here. But you, my sweet little one, never have to worry about being alone. You’ll always find comfort in your parents… until you grow up and the washing machine drum goes out of whack. Then you’re on your own.
Love,
Gremlin Mommy
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Summary:
In this heartfelt and humorous letter to her child, a mother expresses her frustration over nightly disturbances caused by her little one’s fears and unconventional sleeping habits. While acknowledging her own role in fostering these habits, she emphasizes her love and desire for a peaceful sleep arrangement, all while humorously navigating the challenges of parenting.