The Dad Diaries: Co-Sleeping Means No Sleeping

Co-sleeping is a big, fat lie. 

By its very definition, the concept of co-sleeping refers to a nocturnal scenario whereby the parents spend their slumbering hours with their young child on the same bed, in a state of restful bliss. But the truth is that there is very little actual sleeping involved in co-sleeping - especially for the adults. In fact, they might as well just call it “co-staying-up-all-night”. 

A few years ago, when JJ was two, we’d come home from work after almost 10 excruciating hours of separation anxiety, and want nothing more than to be as close to JJ as humanly possible for the rest of the night, ere we part again the morning after. We would play with her, read to her, tell her how much we missed her, and cuddle her close while we animatedly recount our tepid workday.

And come bedtime, we would gently invite her to climb onto our big bed where she would snuggle cozily in between us for the rest of the night. 

Big mistake.

After more than three years of co-sleeping with us, JJ has now claimed our king-sized bed as her own, and she uses it liberally for her fun pre-bedtime routine. First, she starts by reading a very specific set of books on the bed (two of which must have that “new-book smell”); then she proceeds to trampoline mindlessly on the bed for a good 20 minutes; and then on good days, she also finds time to perform a series of intrepid, if inelegant, somersaults at the edge of the bed, inadvertently checking to make sure that her parents’ hearts are healthy enough to defy cardiac arrest.

After this calming pre-sleep routine, it is then time to get down to the business of actually sleeping for the night. But first, she’s a little bit hungry and wants a snack before bedtime… she also needs the air-conditioner to be turned on… and then she wants the fan turned on as well… but she needs to turn it on herself because Papa doesn’t do it right… and she doesn’t want to wear her pyjama pants because they don’t cover her ankles properly… oh, she forgot to look out the window to wait for three, no, five double-decker buses to roll by… wait, wait - she’s also a little bit thirsty after that snack and now needs a drink, preferably an ice-cold Milo dinosaur (hey, don’t push it, kid)… with some biscuits, please, because she thinks she might be a little bit hungry again. 

JJ eventually does fall asleep, but only if she is positioned just so between my wife and I. Any minute departure from this sleeping arrangement would render her sleepless, agitated and in need of an ice-cold Milo dinosaur at 2a.m. in the morning. 

Because JJ is now a taller, stronger and kick-ier little girl, even when asleep she readily dominates the entire king-sized bed with some somnambulistic kung fu moves, effectively manoeuvring my wife and I all the way to the precarious precipices of our bed. And in order not to rouse her while she sleepily tosses, turns, and kicks me in my gonads, we also go to great lengths to stay out of her way while sharing the bed with her, contorting our exhausted bodies into a strange, yoga-like pose that would be aptly named: Wide Awake Pretzel.

Our repeated attempts to lure her into her own bed - now an overflowing repository of all her stuffed toy animals - have been futile. We’ve bribed her with a lukewarm Milo dinosaur, we’ve bought her bedsheets in the exact shade of pantone green that she loves, and we’ve even told her lies about how all baby giraffes sleep in their own beds. She usually acquiesces temporarily, lying disgruntledly in her own bed for about five minutes before coming up with a long list of compelling reasons why she suddenly thinks it is a bad idea: It’s too hot!/It’s too cold!/It’s too small!/It’s too big!/It’s too I-will-bawl-all-night-if-you-make-me-I-swear!

I’ve been told that this state of co-staying-up-all-night is pretty much irreversible and that there’s very little chance for your little nocturnal kung fu pugilist to retreat back to his or her own sleep space. And after more than three years of this stressful yoga, I’m rather resigned to my fate, that I will likely continue to spend my nights as a wide-eyed pretzel for a long time to come. 

If you’re a new-ish parent considering the merits of co-sleeping with your toddler, there’s still hope for you yet. So take my advice and really trust me on this one: Don’t be stupid. Put your bawling child safely in his or her own bed, turn off the lights, turn on the baby monitor and then walk away. 

Your gonads will thank you. 

Raymond is the publishing director of SPH magazines. Everything written here is based on his own personal experiences.