A couple of years ago, when our littlest son was still a toddler, I climbed into bed one night with Lucas and Lizzie at an unholy hour. I was beat. The hour of four in the morning can deliver a truly thorough beating.
As I slid into the bed and drew the covers over me in one careful and practiced motion, the little lad sat straight up in the middle of the bed. I turned slowly, looking over my shoulder to see the outline of him swaying there, eyes still closed, in the flicker of our bedroom’s faux-candle nightlight.
He teetered and tipped over and I felt his face smush up against my butt, he was still sort of sitting. He fell asleep on my butt.
I had the immediate thought, “Uh-oh!” But it was quickly banished by “Ha ha! This is so cute! I wonder how long it’ll last?!” I lay there in the dark with the biggest grin on my face.
Then, as seconds turned into minutes, I settled into the soft comfort of a moment that “couldn’t last” miraculously lasting a lot longer than it should. I entered a kind of sweet spot, past your initial surprise or amusement, where you stop wondering when it will end and just soak it up. I kept soaking. And soaking. And soaking. Until my metaphorical fingers were getting pruney from all the soaking it up.
His head kept rolling off ever so slowly, then he’d catch it and raise it up to rest it on my butt again. This was both hilarious and not at all surprising; real butts are in no way ergonomically correct as pillows (despite the seeming coziness of the butt-shaped pillow pictured above). He was caught in this cycle for a long while. It was adorable, but not the stuff that makes for a good night’s sleep. For either of us.
After a certain point, I was all out of awwws and the humor had worn pretty thin. I was dying to go to sleep and I felt bad for the lad, caught in this terrible loop: slow slide, lift and reset. So, I took it upon myself to carefully adjust without moving or waking him; extending my leg awkwardly to level things out a bit. It worked. He stopped avalanching off my bum.
He and I fell into a deep sleep.
I woke up about an hour later with a stiff back and a kink in my ass like someone tied my glut into a pretzel. The boy had migrated to a new portion of the bed, in a new drunken marionette body pose.
I could almost hear my muscles, they were screaming at me so hard, and my arm was so numb I could have used it as a pincushion.
But I loved it.
I loved that night. Sleeping with my son, sleeping on my butt.
Photo credit: DeadBackpacks
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