Nighttime Ninja

             

            Ben and I have always been like peas in a pod.  Despite this, I was adamant that I would maintain my own sleeping quarters.  I've heard of too many parents who let the kids come and sleep with them as babies, never to be free again.  I am single and have no social life, so I was not preserving a sanctuary for adult activities.  Mainly, I just wanted my own space, a retreat.  It swiftly becomes obvious when you are a new parent that nothing – and I mean nothing – is really yours anymore.  Oh sure, you can set boundaries.  You can even install locks.  I actually have no problem keeping the kids out of my room when I am not in there.  They don’t want my stuff…they are after ME.  Parents can try to maintain a sense of Me in their heads, but your children look at you and all they see is MINE. 

            I was able to work around this at bedtime with Ben.  We would read together and then I would stay with him for a short time while he fell asleep.  I would then sneak out of his room and go back to my room for the night.  Ben even confronted me one day, but I stuck to my guns and told him Mommy needed a good night’s sleep in her own bed. 

             Before traveling to China to get Evan last summer, I congratulated myself on having the foresight to invest in bunk beds when Ben outgrew his toddler bed.  Mind you, this was years in advance, so somewhere in my heart I had known that I would add a sibling for Ben some day.  When Evan’s arrival was imminent, Ben called the top bunk, as any big brother would.   I envisioned that our bedtime ritual would not change all that much.  I would read to them; maybe Ben would come down to the bottom bunk for the story and then go back up.   I planned to stay in the room just long enough to put my little angels to bed, and then go back to my room.    Ben and I spoke of this in detail before Evan came.  I worried that Ben would feel left out, but Ben magnanimously suggested that Evan should lie on the bottom bunk with me because he would perhaps be afraid in his new home. 

           

            We followed this plan for the first few nights at home.  Evan had a lot more energy than I could have envisioned, so it took a lot more time for him to settle down.  My role quickly went from maternal-comforter-in-the-dark, to Nighttime Guard to make sure Evan didn't take it upon himself to wander down the hall or up the ladder to bug Ben.  Things got even more complicated not long into our cohabitation as family when one night a small voice rang down from the top bunk:

            “Mommy…”

            “Yes, Ben?”

            “I’m lonely.” 

            Truth be told, I knew it was only a matter of time.   I missed Ben terribly, too.  He was my little snuggle buddy.  Evan wasn't all that sweet in the beginning.  And he feared nothing.  He regarded me more as an inconvenience, the foil to his plan.  It was more of a contest between us, to see who could remain awake – and in control – longer. 

            “Alright, Ben, come down.  There’s room for three here.”

             The bottom bunk is full-sized, rather than a single like the top bunk.  Still, it was tight, even with three relatively compact bodies across.  Thankfully, we are all short.  We decided we should sleep horizontally. 

            Now, before I go on, you must picture this.  I assure you at 45; nowhere in my rational mind did it occur to me that I would find myself sleeping sideways between two small Chinese boys.  My position is in the middle out of necessity.  You might think this is so that each of my sons can be next to Mommy, and this is one reason.

            This is not where I start out every night. Each night Evan begs to sleep next to Ben.  In fact, while I am brushing my teeth, he switches our pillows and plants himself next to his brother.  Then, he throws himself into the middle position and looks at me with a Cheshire Cat grin, batting his eyelashes at me when I enter the room.   This is not a move he makes out of fraternal love.  Evan knows, as do I that this is his last stand of the night; his last chance to harass Ben.

            I sign to Evan, “Move over.”

            Evan flattens himself, sinking all of his weight into his pillow and the mattress. He grins up at me and signs emphatically, “PLEASE.”  

            I sign, “Move!” 

            Evan wags his head side-to-side, smiling hard and signing, “PLEASE.” 

            Ben groans.

            I sign to Evan, “If you bother Ben, you and I will switch.” 

            Evan quickly signs, “I know. Ok.”

             This does not mean, “I will try to be good.”  It really means, “I hereby accept and expect my fate that I will sleep on the end, but thank you for this final opportunity to deeply annoy my dear brother Ben.”  He is gleeful. 

            I lie down on the end. 

            Within seconds, “Moooooom, Evan hit me.”  Or touched me. Or has his foot on me.  Or poked me in the eye.  Or threw his book on me.  Or breathed on me.   

            I sit up.  I sign, “Switch.” 

            Evan signs, “No! I’m Sorry,” and shakes his head, laughing.   I know Evan is not sorry.  Evan knows I will make him move. 

            I grab an arm and a leg and drag him out of the middle spot. I switch our pillows.  I lay down and tell Evan to lay down.    Ben turns away from us and goes to sleep.  I know I cannot go to sleep until Evan settles down.  I lie there, between my boys like the Great Wall, protecting Ben from Evan the invader. Evan gradually settles down, but not before he makes a few ill-fated attempts to reach across me, likely designed to annoy me more than Ben, who by now has succumbed to the sand man.

            I admit Evan outlasts me most nights.  Maybe it’s because I’m getting older, or have two children to keep up with, or because I get up farmer-early so I can have a couple of hours of peace in the morning.  I don’t stay awake long enough to retreat to my own bed.

             At some point in the middle of the night, I usually awake with a foot in by back and then it is time to escape.  This is not easy.  I first must assess the situation.  There in the dark, I take inventory of the legs and arms that entwine mine.  The stakes are high.  Evan has two speeds – on and off.  Getting him to go back to sleep is no easy task.    I have to extract myself from the middle as gently as possible. 

            Evan is sensitive to vibration. Jiggling the mattress or shaking the bed can be really bad.  He may not wake up, but he will reach out and sling an arm or leg over me like a caveman trapping his woman.

  Seeing as I am a lady “of a certain age” and not an Olympic gymnast, my first impulse would be to lean to one side or the other and prop myself up.  But I cannot go sideways too far without causing disruption.   If the boys are snuggled close to me this is really tricky.  One night, (I am not exaggerating), out of desperation I grabbed the frame of the bunk above us, swung my legs over my head and did a backwards somersault out of the bunk.  This was not as graceful as I am hoping you are imagining it, and my landing would have lost me all points. 

            On a positive note, Evan couldn't hear me when I cursed a blue streak as I landed on the Legos spread out over the floor like thumbtacks to prevent my escape.  Ben only let out a small whimper, cracked his eyes open, and shut them again as if it was quite natural to see his mother splayed out, limbs akimbo, on the floor. 

            Most nights, I eventually make it back to my bed, if only for just a little while.  I know the day will come where the boys will want their own space. Perhaps I will be wistful then, and long for the togetherness of these nights.  For now, if I seem tired and need extra concealer to hide my dark circles, you will know why.