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Friday 31 July 2015

Musical beds routine has it perks...and the odd thump!

Published 08/01/2014 | 05:20

I had the misfortune of looking in a well-lit mirror the other day and found, to my bemusement, that I had a bad red mark under my left eye.

'Where did that come from?' I asked the husband, who helpfully replied: 'Well, it wasn't me'.

Did I walk into something and not realise it? Or was this the start of a terrible eye-borne infection that was going to render me blind?

After many hours of turning the situation over in my head, I realised what had happened and, more importantly, who was the culprit. Yes, you guessed it, the Wee Lad.

But before anyone reports him for elder abuse, I have to say in his defence that he was unconscious when he did it. Because he was in the bed with me when he turned around – probably in the middle of a dream about catching a lion – and thumped me four-square in the eye socket, leaving the nasty red mark.

It wouldn't be the first time that either of the Lads are guilty of battering the auld Mamo, but thankfully, it's all done under the cover of sleep. Despite the fact the pair of them share an Angry Birds-inspired room of their own and despite the fact they have an electric blanket and stars stickers that light up in the dark, when winter sets in the pair usually end up in bed with me.

I will make no apologies for the fact that when the Big Lad was born, he slept in the bed with me. It suited the pair of us and it meant that I was close to him, keeping him warm and getting him used to the outside world. They are, of course, very good reasons why health experts issue dire warnings about doing this, but mothers are still, I think, allowed to make their own decisions. I made mine and it worked very well for me.

When the Wee Lad came along, he spent his first night in the bed and promptly squealed to get away from me and into the cot next to the bed. And that worked too.

And when the pair of them were big enough, the brothers went into their own room, into a double bed, and mostly stay there.

But when they are sick or sad or had a bad drea or are cold or cross, you can hear the little thumping sound of tiny feet on the landing, the light creeping into the room as the door is open and one, or both, slithering into the bed beside you.

I'm too tired to hoosh them bad to their own pen like errant chickens, so I let them stay. But I do have to put up with a few discomforts to accommodate them.

The feet are sometimes cold and they waste no time in finding a warm part of my leg to use as a hot water bottle.

And sometimes, the toe nails are 'scrapey' and scrab anywhere they are moved like tiny metal pins.

Occasionally, the Wee Lad will have piddled himself and dragged his wet bum from bed to bed until he finds me to change it for him. I have to wake up, but he can get fresh new jammies on without opening an eye.

The thumps in the face are rare, but very sore.

But there is something very special about looking at their peaceful little faces, smoothed by sleep and knowing that they, for now, are perfectly contented.

However, like a magic spell, it only lasts a few hours and in the morning, it's back to normal – staring at life in a well-lit mirror.

The Argus

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