As part of the nighttime routine, I sing Westley a few songs, kiss him good-night, close the door to his room, and then remove at least a dozen of his toys from Rob's and my bed.
Sometimes the bed is set up as a stage for a hybrid marching band set/rock show, with all Westley's various drums, guitars, horns, whistles, and even a microphone lined up and ready. Sometimes it's one big Sesame Street character puppy pile. Most nights, it's simply a haphazard arrangement of toys, books, and the occasional kitchen utensil.
Even more than Westley's insisting on accompanying me while I pee or his rummaging through my underwear drawer, the explosion of toddler-life into my bedroom, onto my bed feels like an invasion of privacy. Picking Westley's toys out of my bed is no different than, say, clearing them off the sofa...when it comes to the actual picking up. But on a visceral level, it crosses a line I didn't know I had.
It's not about the sex thing, the way my not wanting to bed-share, co-sleep, and so on is. Or it's not only about that. As Westley gets more active and inquisitive, the more I'm feeling like I don't have any space that's really mine. And I suppose I could just as easily complain about the child-grime in my car, or the magazines torn before they're read, or the favorite objects relocated to high-up shelves. But the truth is that I only sort of mind those things (except on the days when they make me want to start fires). Perhaps I'm honing in on the bed because it does feel so intrinsically personal. The fact remains, however, that Westley has a whole house to play in, including a yard and a playroom full of toys, and yet his favorite hang-out spot is Mommy and Daddy's bed.
On the one hand it doesn't seem like a huge request: one little corner of the house that's off-limits to Westley. On the other hand, it seems rather unrealistic. I have a young child who is home with me all the time. He really doesn't understand "personal space."
So, "No playing in Mommy and Daddy's bed," then? Also no good. Because if Westley wants to jump and tumble and fall on the bed while I just quietly lie there, making sure he doesn't crack his skull against the headboard but otherwise resting, that's pretty great, too. Especially on days when I'm not feeling even close to 100%.
I'm thinking of trying to enforce a "No toys in Mommy and Daddy's bed" rule. We've had a lot of success with "no food in Mommy and Daddy's bed" (probably because Rob and I are completely, fully in agreement on that rule, no exceptions). I don't know how well that will go over after months of Westley enjoying a king size soft playspace. But it might be worth a shot.
Or it might just be in my best interest to attempt to dissolve my boundaries even further, and get over the toys in my bedroom. Westley doesn't do it to offend me, and they're easy enough to move. And I'm sure that, like other aspects of this parenting journey that I've absolutely detested and then later come to find nostalgia for (cough-breastfeeding-cough), someday I will miss finding drumsticks under my pillow.
