When my kids were little, it was no big deal to have them share a room. Our babies co-slept with us most nights, and as long as they had a play area, they were content. But as our family expanded and matured, we decided it was essential for them to have their own spaces. So, when we moved into a new house, finding more space was our top priority.
After relocating, they transitioned from tiny, cramped bedrooms to rooms that were nearly double the size. The new house allowed our oldest and youngest to have their own rooms, while the two middle ones shared the largest room, which felt enormous compared to what they were used to. I spent months gathering fun decor, from cute lamps to lively wall art, aiming to create dream bedrooms they would love. I envisioned spaces they would never want to leave.
However, reality has a way of derailing our best intentions. A year in, they adore their rooms—during the day. But come nightfall, the familiar refrain begins: “Mom, can I sleep with my brothers?”
I’m perplexed. The pristine bed we bought for our youngest barely shows any signs of use, as he has spent only a few nights in it. The same goes for our oldest son’s bed, which resembles a cozy couch. He enjoys it, but only as a hangout spot, not for sleep. When bedtime arrives, they all prefer to squeeze into the shared bunk beds of their middle brothers. And it’s not just a top-and-bottom situation; they cram into the bottom bunk, nearly on top of one another. At ages 11, 9, 7, and 4, they’re not exactly small, and my preschooler is almost as tall as my second-grader. With all their blankets and pillows, space is a premium. There are elbows in ribs and feet in faces.
“Why don’t you go to your own beds?” I suggest almost nightly. “You’ll feel so much better.” I worry about their sleep quality—is it even remotely comfortable? I fret about the potential consequences of their nighttime arrangements: poorer performance at school, grumpy moods, and all the irrational worries that come with motherhood.
But every night, when I check on them, I find them peacefully sleeping, limbs intertwined like a litter of puppies. They may argue and bicker during the day, but at night, they embody brotherly love. It’s a magical transformation; they go from fighting to cuddling as soon as the sun sets.
While I may casually encourage them to sleep separately, this is one battle I choose not to engage in. Yes, their beds go unused, and yes, they appear rather uncomfortable all piled together in a sweaty heap. But I recognize that these moments are fleeting. They won’t always seek one another’s company in this way. By sleeping together, they are providing each other with an unspoken reassurance against whatever nighttime fears may arise, knowing they have someone close by. I hope this silent bond will help foster a lasting sense of loyalty and support among them.
This is why I hold firm on everything else in our nightly routine—bedtime, teeth brushing, all of it is non-negotiable—except for this one aspect. Their closeness, after all, is just as vital as their sleep.
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In summary, while my children may prefer to sleep together instead of in their own rooms, I choose to embrace this phase of their lives. Their shared moments at night create bonds that will last a lifetime, and for now, that connection is more important than their individual sleep quality.