If you avoided reading in Thursday’s New York Times print edition all the “TrumpStein” stories, the Trumpian bombast stories and the assorted mayhem stories from around our country and world, you might have found the lead article in the international section that either warmed your heart or repulsed you
Count me among the former. For, as a former participant in the family bed adventure chronicled in the article, I can personally vouch for the concept’s short and long term benefits.
My involvement in the family bed experience began a little more than 46 years ago with the birth of our first child, Dan, who went by the name Danny back then.
Danny suffered from severe colic. He was allergic to all dairy products. Rice, as well. Fortunately, mother’s milk sustained him. Gilda became a devotee of La Leche League, the breastfeeding experts.
Danny started out in a crib in his own room. Each time he woke during the night—basically every two hours—I would toddle off to his room to bring him back to place his mouth at Gilda’s breast. At the conclusion of his meal back he went to his crib.
We were getting pretty sleep deprived after a few weeks. When I wound up so disoriented that I positioned his tush rather than his lips at Gilda’s breast one middle of the night we agreed something had to be done.
We placed a high rise bed in the space between our queen size bed and an exterior wall, effectively making a super king size bed.
We had no fear of rolling over on him. He wasn’t crawling yet. The wall prevented him from dropping off the side of the bed.
Weeks turned into months turned into years with Danny enjoying his proximity to us, not disturbing our slumber or romantic times, and he was not negatively affected by the television that occasionally played in the background at night. Indeed, when he was around two and able to enjoy Cheerios, on weekends we would often prop him up on his mattress, place a bowl of cereal before him and turn on Sesame Street, Mister Rogers and other PBS kinder-fare while we slept in for another hour or two.
After Ellie was born when he was three, Danny resumed sleeping in his own room while she, who also had severe colic, enjoyed the comfort and security of the family bed experience. So much so that when it was her time to leave the haven of our bedroom for the next several years we would often find Ellie sleeping in Danny’s room, on his bed or, usually, on the floor.
***No A.I. was used in the writing and editing of this post. The only intelligence employed was my own.***
