Sharing a bed with my children wrecked my relationship. But it was so heavenly I’d do it all again
make it home early, I felt he regretted it: he would arrive in that chaotic pre-bed ‘witching hour’, with the children running around screaming everywhere, until they’d snuggle down in bed next to me, contented, calm, happy. We’d drift off to sleep together. Without my other half.
My night-time visits to the spare room, before vanishing back to the family sleeping room, ensured we conceived our third child together, my daughter Ottoline, now 15.
We were both equally thrilled to have a little girl, and our relationship definitely had an upswing.
But reality bit fast: Ottoline came into bed with me, my partner remained in the spare room. With three children under five who all slept in with me on and off (Leonard was beginning to make steps into sleeping on his own, but this was certainly not always guaranteed), I became totally frazzled. My partner’s job stepped up a gear, and his stress levels increased.
Throughout all this, we had tried to keep the flame alive. We would sneak time in for each other when the children were at school and if he had a day off, taking ourselves off for a delicious afternoon snuggle. If we managed to stay awake in the evenings, we did have some precious moments together: we spent time getting to re-know each other, which felt secret, romantic and fun.
On occasion, he would put the children to bed. They would all yell and demand to know where I was. But, in the end, he would get them off to sleep by determinedly reading books and generally being an immoveable force until they gave in and went to sleep.
Then he would join me in the back garden, where I was hiding from the children, and we would have a glass of wine together. I loved these evenings — the two of us finally having some time alone. We also tried getting babysitters, and having nights out together — we’d feel so carefree — but back home, I would give in, and get back in bed with the children. Our buzz would quickly wear off.
I even remember attempting to sleep-train our oldest, Leonard, putting him in the bedroom upstairs — but he would have none of it.
Night after night, we sat at the bottom of the stairs to catch him when he appeared and cajole him back to his own bed. But like a homing pigeon, he just would not give up the family bed. In the end, we just gave up.
None of our efforts were enough to heal the divide of the separate rooms, and 11 years ago, my partner and I became estranged. Every break-up is complex, of course, but co-sleeping definitely didn’t help.
Today, I have some regrets about co-sleeping, as well as some thoroughly joyful memories. Children adore it, benefit from it — but adult relationships do not. It damages that sense of ‘being in it together’ you so desperately need as a couple.
It was worsened by the fact we simply forgot to nurture our connection in any way. I disappeared into the children, he vanished into work. The gap between us just became too wide. We neglected the most important relationship of all: that between the two of us.
It is only in recent years that my bed has become completely childfree. As young teenagers, if one of them was ill, they would often snuggle back in.
This was mainly my daughter, who, despite having made the move into her own bed around the age of three, would often come in for a catch-up and then fall asleep beside me. But she no longer does that now.
I miss it. Seeing them sleeping next to me: their beautiful bodies, their rising and falling chests as they breathe, the twitches they make, but, most of all, the sheer peaceful abandonment I’d see in them as they slept.
Even though it helped create a rift in my relationship, I’d do it all over again. It felt like a beautiful and loving thing to do. The only regret I have is that I didn’t manage to make it work for my partner, too.
We tried to keep the f lame alive by sneaking time in for each other