When my children were little, sharing a room didn’t seem like a big deal. They co-slept with us most nights, and as long as they had space to play during the day, they were content. However, as our family expanded, we thought it was essential for them to have their own spaces. So, when we searched for a new home, having more room was our top priority.
After relocating, they transitioned from tiny, cramped bedrooms to spaces almost twice the size. Our eldest and youngest each got their own rooms, while the middle two shared the largest bedroom, which felt incredibly spacious compared to their previous setup. I spent months collecting fun, kid-friendly decor, adding colorful touches and whimsical furniture to make their new rooms special. I envisioned them loving their personal havens, never wanting to leave.
But you know how plans can go awry…
Now, a year later, they adore their rooms — during the day. Each night, we go through the same routine, with the familiar request echoing through the house: “Mom, can I sleep with my brothers?”
It baffles me. The brand-new bed we bought for our youngest remains pristine, having only been slept in a few times. Our eldest has a stylish bed that resembles a couch, intended to be a cozy spot for him, yet he too prefers the communal bunk beds of his middle siblings. They don’t even opt for the top and bottom bunks — no, they all squeeze into the bottom bunk, practically stacked on top of each other. And at ages 11, 9, 7, and 4, they’re not exactly small kids; my youngest is nearly the same size as my second-grader. With all the blankets and pillows piled on, there’s barely any room left. It’s a tangle of elbows, feet, and knees.
“Why don’t you go to your own beds?” I suggest nightly. “You’d sleep so much better.” I worry about their sleep quality — they can’t be comfortable like that — and the potential consequences of sleep deprivation: dips in school performance and irritable moods, which I can’t help but fret about.
Yet, when I sneak a peek before heading to bed, there they are, peacefully dozing in a knot of limbs. They look like a group of siblings in a cozy embrace; sometimes one rests their head on another’s shoulder, or they hold hands. This is their moment of connection. Although they argue like cats and dogs during the day, at night, they transform into a bundle of affection. Once the sun sets, their bickering turns into snuggles.
I may half-heartedly encourage them to sleep separately, but this is one battle I choose not to fight. Yes, their beds go unused. Yes, they look incredibly uncomfortable piled together. But I realize that these moments are fleeting. They won’t always want to be this close. By sleeping together, they’re silently reassuring one another that they’re not alone in facing whatever nighttime fears may arise, and that they can always reach out for comfort. I hope this bond will last a lifetime, helping them always support one another.
So, while I enforce structure in other areas of our nightly routine — bedtime, brushing teeth — I let this one slide. At this stage, their closeness matters just as much as getting a good night’s sleep.
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In summary, while my kids may not sleep alone, their shared moments are essential for their emotional growth. Embracing this stage in their lives allows me to appreciate the bonds they are forming, even if it means letting go of my expectations for a perfectly structured bedtime routine.