I’ve Got To Get My Son To Sleep In His Own Bed

David Guest
October 20, 2012

David Guest

Lives in: Los Angeles, CA
From: St. Louis, MO
Occupation: Life of Dad Co-Founder
Twitter: @davidmguest
Facebook: davidmatthewguest

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            Little problems get bigger, until they become issues that must be fixed.  That’s the situation my wife and I are in with the sleeping habits of my son, Jack.  My son is an amazing four-year-old kid who’s smart, funny and good at sports, but he has a habit of sleeping between us in our king-sized bed that’s been going on since he was born.  Like most habits, having Jack in our bed was no big deal at first.  In fact, it was wonderful to have our beautiful baby boy in between us at night.  But years later, it’s the only sleeping arrangement that he has ever known, and he hasn’t grown out of it like I thought he would.  It’s just the opposite.  He’s completely accustomed to it and terrified of being in his room alone.

There are a lot of problems that come with this.  I haven’t slept consistently on anything more than an eight-inch edge of mattress since I became a dad.  I have fantasies of flopping on our bed and doing glorious snow angels on the acres of open space that would be created by my son’s absence.  I would love to feel the knotted twists in my posture uncoil as I allow my body to stretch out and enjoy a real night of sleep.  I’m also afraid that if we don’t get this kid out of our bed sometime soon, he’s going to wind up being twenty-five, studying for his graduate degree in Planetary Science or something, and still sleeping in our bed at night.  What will he do when he gets married?  If we don’t address this issue now, his future wife will be in for one hell of an awkward wedding night.

On his fourth birthday, my wife and I bought him new Jake and the Neverland Pirates sheets for his unused toddler bed.  We turned his entire room into a shrine to the show, with Jake posters on the wall, Jake pillows, Jake dolls, treasure chests, everything.  It was so cool that I wanted to sleep there.  And actually, his toddler bed is bigger than the strip of mattress I’ve been living with, so I’ve thought about moving in there more than once.  Jack’s sleep experience in this room lasted about eight minutes.  He was back in our bed describing how scary it was sleeping by himself.  I was so frustrated.  I didn’t understand.  A dimly lit room filled with skulls, swords and alligators—what could be scary about that?  Oh wait.

Then I bought the most expensive nightlight device I could find.  This thing’s amazing.  It’s shaped like a turtle and projects multi-colored soft lights on the ceiling of the room.  It plays soothing music, makes crashing wave sounds and whale noises, and I think it even whispers “Go to sleep, kid,” over and over if I could find the right setting.  I loved it at first sight, and with the vision of snow angels in my head, I happily paid a ridiculous sum for the thing.  Well, it didn’t work either.  Jack lasted about half an hour under the trance of the humpbacks, and then he was right back with us again.

Part of the problem is that my wife and I have never given this issue consistent attention.  It always comes at the end of the day, when we’re all tired and unmotivated to do anything about it.  But that’s about to change.  I am going to focus on this every night for the next few months, until we’ve fixed it as a family.

Do you have any advice for us?  If so, please comment below.

I’ll update this blog to let you now how it goes.

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