I experienced something new in the wee hours of Friday morning. Connor woke up, scared, and came into our room. That wasn't new. Unfortunately. But, when he left his room, he woke up Brandon, who started crying. That was kind of new. And also unfortunate. I got up and comforted Brandon but he wasn't having it and asked, in his crying baby-slobber-babble, to come into our bed. He had woken up earlier in the night, crying, and the only thing that calmed him down that time was to take him back to my bed for a bit, then return him to his crib.
We got a king-sized bed earlier this year and
it was the best thing to ever happen to us so there was (kind of) room for the two of them. I figured I would again return Brandon to his crib once he fell asleep, so off we went to the big bed.
I had settled Connor in the middle, between Nate and I, and Brandon in the crook of my arm when I heard the bedroom door creak open. It was Ethan. He came to my side of the bed and said he was scared and didn't want to sleep in his room alone. This was new. I tried to assure him that he was fine. He insisted that he was not.
OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
So, against my better judgment, I scooted over a tad, moved Brandon to my chest, and let him get into bed with us, too.
This left all five of us in one bed. This has happened zero times in the history of, well, ever. And will never happen again. I was sandwiched between the two older boys and had Brandon on my chest. Turns out, Ethan is quite the cuddler when he sleeps, and he was glued to my side, with his face almost touching mine. Everyone fell asleep.
I was not comfortable. My back was cramping. My neck was sore. My arms were pinned. I had knees, feet, elbows, and hands assaulting me from three sides. My body pillow/Nate's worst enemy (he hates that thing) was tangled in my legs and feet. Not only was I being suffocated by the cloud of little boy farts and bad-breath stink from my little mouth-breathers hovering over my face, the weight of two-year-old Brandon on my chest and stomach was also making it hard to breathe.
As I laid there, buried under the dog-pile of kids, thanks to Brandon kneeing me in the bladder, I realized that I had to pee. Badly. But I was screwed until at least Brandon was deeply asleep enough for me to move back to his crib. And of course, for him to fall deeply asleep, what does he do? Flop all over my extremely full bladder.
Twenty minutes later, I couldn't take it anymore and moved Brandon to his crib, then darted into the bathroom. Nate got tired of Connor mule-kicking him and moved him back to his bed. Ethan remained passed out in our bed.
Usually, I like experiencing new things. It's fun. It's adventurous. It's exciting. This was none of those things.