The other night, Lil woke up and stumbled into our room, climbed up onto my monster of a bed, and fell asleep on Sean’s pillow. She mumbled something about not wanting to sleep alone.
I didn’t have the heart to put her back in her own bed, so I let her be for a while.
I can’t blame her for not wanting to sleep alone. I don’t like sleeping alone. Most nights, I stay awake much later than I should simply because I do not like falling asleep by myself. And I’m thirty-….something. I should be ok with this, but I’m not.
Last year, Sean worked overnights for 6 months. It was awful. I barely slept, I was restless, I was anxious. I actually bought an essential oil blend called Anxiety Ease because I was lying in bed listening for any little noise, convinced we were going to be robbed. I would get heart palpitations if our neighbors bumped the wall. I played soothing music on Spotify in an attempt to lull myself to sleep.
It was not easy.
Yet we expect a four year old to go to sleep by herself every night and sleep soundly and be ok with that while we have each other’s company just down the hall. Oh, and we’re grown ups. We should be ok with sleeping alone.
So if I’m not, why should I expect her to be?
So I let her curl up. I rub her back and comb her hair with my fingers. I snuggle up to her and we keep each other warm and cozy. And although it breaks my heart (and almost breaks my back because she’s pushing 40lb), I lift her sleepy, heavy body onto my shoulder and bring her back to her room, tuck her in, give her soft cheeks a kiss and tell her I love her and will see her when the sun comes up. I pray that she’ll sleep soundly and peacefully, and climb into bed, anxiously awaiting Sean to come home from work so I can finally fall asleep.