Is It Okay to Sleep in the Same Bed as One’s Little Miracle Baby?

The other night, it was really hot.  Sure, there was a breeze, but it was a hot breeze.  Like someone blowing on the back of your neck at a concert.  So I hooked up the air conditioner for the first time all year.

We’ve been reluctant to use it because we live in Australia, which means the air conditioner makes our energy bill go up to $3,924 per hour and in order for it to operate the most efficiently, I have to summon every ounce of strength I have to wheel it into the kitchen to fill it up with water (Huh? Yep!) from the tap, then wheel the subsequently much heavier beast back into the bedroom, then stick the exhaust hose out the window.

It takes about three and a half hours total to set it up.

Oh, also, it looks like an enormous evil robot from the 1950’s and scares the hell out of me:

Look at this thing, hiding in the corner like a trapped tiger.

See what I mean?

But after I set the thing up and it was time for bed, I realized that the intercom had been packed away, so my lady friend and I might not be able hear our little miracle baby if he cried out in the night.  

(I forgot to mention that the air conditioner makes a sound that is vaguely similar to gravel getting stuck in a lawn mower… CLACK CLACK CLACK CLACK UHHHHHHHH CLACK CLACK CLACK UHHHHHH WOOWOOWOOWOO HUMMMMM HUMMMMM YEAH YEAH ELLA ELLA ELLA EY EY EY GO COWBOYS.)

Granted, the boy was sound asleep and the heat wasn’t really bothering him.  But in the interests of fairness, we brought him into bed with us.

Well, that turned out to be a huge mistake.

I wasn’t aware of it, but this guy is extraordinarily active throughout the night.  He’s up, he’s talking to himself, taking dictation for some thesis he’s writing, getting a bit of exercise in with the jumping jacks and just generally not sleeping.

Naturally, I didn’t get any sleep that night, so I kept a detailed diary of what happened…


Brought my little miracle baby into bed.  Felt so good to have the family in one bed.  Can’t be a regular thing, but it’s nice.


I wake up.  My beautiful baby is holding my hand.  Well, his hands are so small, so he’s really just holding my finger.  It makes him feel secure.  This is so adorable it makes my heart sing.


I wake up.  My baby is grabbing my nose for some reason.  He’s really squeezing the bejesus out of it.  And he’s staring at me like he might be asleep and he’s just not aware of what he’s doing.  I think I see him smirk, though.  Christ, this is painful.


I wake up.  My baby has pulled himself up by the headboard and is jumping up and down next to my head while shouting what sounds like right wing propaganda like “Australia for Australians!” and “Obamacare’s a job killer!!”


I wake up.  My baby is trying to shove his stuffed platypus into my mouth.  He’s really jamming it in there.  When is this going to end?


I wake up to hear my baby whispering “I am a Constitutional originalist” in my ear over and over again.  What does that mean?


I wake up to find my baby sitting on my head, pulling at my hair, screaming, “Do you yield, sir?!  Do you yield, sir?!”


Things are getting weird.  I wake up.  My baby is sitting up, staring at me and it kind of looks like he’s pretending to smoke a cigarette using his pacifier.  “I guess you think you’re a pretty big man, don’t you,” he seems to say.  “We’ll see how big you are…  Oh, we’ll see!”  And then he laughed and laughed.


My alarm goes off.  My baby’s sleeping heavily.  “Time to wake up,” I say.  And I swear, he turns over and it sounds like he says, “F*#& off…” and keeps sleeping.



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