Roll Over! Roll Over!

Two nights ago I was thinking about that old children’s song, “Roll Over! Roll Over!” You know the one that goes, “There were ten in the bed and the little one said, ‘Roll Over! Roll Over!’” This tune was running through my head relentlessly because it was four in the morning and my youngest son had crawled into my bed at some point earlier in the night and was kneeing my kidneys in his sleep.
This nightmare had started about a month ago. This past summer I returned to college to spruce up my decrepit computer skills and make myself more desirable in the job market. I decided to ease back into the pool of academic knowledge with what I thought would be an easy course on Art History, 1100s to Present-Day. This summer course turned out to be far from easy. The only art course available also turned out to begin at a startling 8 o’clock in the morning. A natural night person getting up early and having to be somewhere was a shock to my personal system.
Taking a morning class also made it difficult for me to drop my two boys off at summer camp. Getting little children up in the morning is like herding cats. I would be late to class every day. My husband Kevin gallantly offered to drop the kids off three days a week for the six weeks my class was being held.
That first week of class was rocky but serviceable. I was tired, Quincy, age four, and James, age three, were confused, and Kevin was cranky. Yet we all managed to get through the first week in one piece. Unfortunately, the second week of my class Kevin had to go off on a week-long church mission trip with his youth group. A true lifesaver, my mother stepped in and took the boys for a week to her house.
I have to admit that week was paradise. I studied for my class, went to the movies, and ate out every night. I spent an entire week not screaming at anyone, answering ridiculous questions, or having to look for anyone else’s shoes. One of my neighbors joked that he could hear me laughing with joy all the way down the block. All too soon the week was up and my troubles began.
Kevin returned from his mission trip with a load of stinky laundry and inspirational stories about helping the poor. Quincy returned from my mom’s house with happy tales of trips to the park and pizza parlors and unlimited Popsicles. James returned and clamped himself to my leg like a barnacle. Suddenly my independent little man was a clingy nervous wreck. According to my mom, James had a great time but he really missed being home, being with me.
We adopted James from foster care when he was two years old. And even though I know he does not remember much of his life before he was placed in our home, I worried if I had traumatized my baby boy with a trip to Grandma’s house. Ever since his trip to my mom’s James hates it when he knows I am going to leave him. Recently, a friend and I were going out to dinner one night and when James realized he was staying at my friend’s house with her family and Quincy James freaked out. No little tantrum for him, James was suddenly a wild beast, throwing himself on living room floor, screaming at the top of his lungs, and banging against the door. Needless to say my dinner plans were postponed until Kevin could come to my friend’s house and comfort him.
In addition to freaking out when I leave him, lately nearly every night James comes to our bed. Generally I do not realize James has come to our bed until I feel him pushing Kevin and me out of the bed in his sleep. Did I mention that toddlers always sleep sideways in bed with both arms and legs akimbo to take up the maximum amount of room humanly possible? Kevin has started sleeping upside down to try and protect his head from James’ out-flung limbs.
I have been doing everything I could to keep James in his own bed. At first, I would gently carry him back to his room, navigating around the plethora of Matchbox cars and toy trains scattered on the floor. For all my troubles I usually got a snubbed toe, a bruised shin, and James back in my bed about an hour later. Next, I started putting a diaper on James at night, since he occasionally came to our bed wearing a wet pair of pajama pants. Instead of staying put, James started taking off his wet diaper in the middle of the night and coming to our bed bare bottomed.
Finally I gave up and I tried to get used to sharing my bed with a three-year-old. Then Quincy started following James to our bedroom. This was too much. There was no room. We added an air-conditioner to the boys’ bedroom to help them sleep through the hot summer nights. Next, we added a nightlight to keep the monsters at bay. Even with cool air and monster free zones, both boys still came to our bed. In desperation one evening after weeks of very little sleep, I dragged out one of our old safety gates to bar their room. I even added a potty for their convenience. At around two in the morning James began to wail, “I want my Mommy.” I carried him to our bed. Quincy reenacted this scene at around four in the morning and I carried him in to our bedroom, too. Official score: Boys: 2, Parents: 0.
I know the real answer to the problem is Kevin and me. There are literally volumes and volumes of books and articles and websites on children and sleep problems. There is a lot of advice our there, but the prevailing wisdom is to return the kid to his bed and get some flipping sleep. Snubbed toes aside, I know I should carry my gruesome twosome back to their respective beds every time, every night. But I feel guilty. I want to spend peaceful, happy time with them and at least when we are all in bed no one is yelling and breaking things. I especially want James to know this is his forever home.
The other night when I was humming “Roll Over! Roll Over!” to myself as dawn softly stole through the window I knew something has to change. Both Kevin and I were laying upside down in the bed while Quincy and James crowded each other in the middle of our bed. I know my boys know that they are loved. I also know I have to stick to a bedtime routine to help my kids sleep through the night in their own beds. Right now I do bath time and story time before putting them to bed. Generally I stay upstairs to minimize any night time tomfoolery.
Most importantly I have to see these nighttime visits for what they are, a normal phase of childhood and not a deep psychological wound. I have to put my big boys back to bed and get some sleep. And I am going to start tonight. There are only so many times a grown woman can sing, “Roll Over! Roll Over!” before she goes crazy.