When my children were little, cramming them into one room wasn’t much of an issue. They co-slept in our bed most of the time, and as long as they had a space to play, they were content. As our family expanded, we decided that having their own spaces would be more important. So, when we searched for a new home, finding a larger one was our main goal.
Once we moved, the kids transitioned from cramped, shoebox-sized rooms to spacious quarters that were nearly double the size of their old ones. Our oldest and youngest each got their own rooms, while the middle two shared the biggest space, which felt positively enormous compared to what they were used to. I spent months gathering fun decor—picking up a picture here and a lamp there—and transformed their new bedrooms into vibrant, inviting retreats. I was convinced that with all this space, they’d never want to leave.
Ah, the best-laid plans…
A year later, they adore their rooms—during the day, that is. But come nighttime, the same familiar routine unfolds: “Mom, can I sleep with my brothers?”
I can’t quite grasp it. The pristine bed we bought for our youngest hardly gets any use; he’s only slept there a handful of times. The same goes for our oldest, whose stylish bed resembles a cozy couch, making his room feel like a trendy studio apartment. He loves it—just not for sleeping. When bedtime rolls around, they all prefer to pile into the bunk beds in their middle brother’s shared room. And let me clarify: this isn’t a matter of some sleeping on the top bunk and others on the bottom. No, they all squish into the bottom bunk, practically on top of one another. With ages ranging from 11 to 4, they’re not tiny either; my preschooler is nearly the same size as his second-grade brother. When you add in the blankets and pillows, there’s hardly any space left. Elbows dig into ribs, feet find their way into faces, and knees jab into backs.
“Maybe you should sleep in your own beds,” I suggest almost nightly. “You’d feel so much better!” I worry about their sleep quality—there’s no way they can be comfortable—and the potential fallout: lower school performance, cranky moods, and all those mom worries that keep me up at night.
Yet, when I check on them before I turn in, there they are, peacefully snoozing in a tangle of limbs. They’re intertwined like a litter of puppies, sometimes with one’s head resting on another’s shoulder or holding hands. For reasons unknown, this is their bonding time. During the day, they squabble like cats and dogs, but at night, they transform into a picture of sibling affection. As the sun sets, they somehow shift from brawling to snuggling.
Sure, I might half-heartedly suggest they sleep alone, but this isn’t a battle I’m keen to fight. Yes, their beds remain largely untouched. Yes, they look uncomfortably squished together in a sweaty heap. But I recognize that these moments are fleeting. They won’t always want to sleep together. By sharing this space, they’re reassuring one another that they’re not alone against whatever nighttime fears might lurk. They’re sending an unspoken message of support that I hope will last a lifetime.
That’s why I stand firm on every other aspect of our nightly routine—bedtime, teeth brushing—everything else is non-negotiable, except this one thing. For now, their closeness is as vital as their sleep.
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In summary, while my kids may prefer sleeping in a pile, I recognize the importance of these fleeting moments of togetherness. Their shared snuggles create bonds that will last a lifetime, and for now, that’s more important than any quality of sleep.