Sickness in The Family Bed

To Family Bed or Not to Family Bed: I'd like to meet a person who thinks she actually has a choice in the matter. Whether or not you call it A Family Bed, if there are more than 2 people in that slumbering paradise, it's clearly not just for the couple who started the family in the first place.
Oh, sure, it starts out with your first baby when you fall asleep nursing her in the middle of the night. As she gets older, it's just too much of a struggle to get her into the crib. Finally you succeed in getting her all excited about the Big Girl Bed, and then you have another child. He too becomes addicted to the midnight boobie crack, and takes over the space his sister no longer occupies.
But then she starts to have "nightmares" (aka, terrors of being usurped by the baby) and suddenly there are four little monkeys sleeping in the bed. And it's Mommy who falls out and bumps her head.

Yet last week I was glad for the family bed.

And the revelation came to me through the grace of vomit.

The 3 and 11/12ths girl had nuzzled her way inbetween daddy and baby (Mommy mostly quite literally hangs out the far side). Around 3 am we heard the unmistakeable groan in the dark: "Mommy, I don't fee..." Well, you can imagine the sound as she got sick in our cozy little nest.

Amazing how quickly you can move when you have to. Husband, who could normally sleep through anything (especially attempts to awaken him) lept from the bed like Mikhail Baryshnikov, tossed me the baby ("keep him safe!"), threw the lights on, and bounded down the hall to retrieve the Bounty.

Let me be the first to admit it: I am useless when it comes to bodily fluids. Especially stinky ones. So while one year old son squirmed and writhed in my arms, trying to get himself free to wallow with his sister in the sodden mess that had been my bed, all I could do was mumble helpful things like "you'll feel better soon, honey" and hope that my gag reflex didn't give way.

And really, it was the most pitiful thing. As her little body spasmed she kept blinking at me with incomprehension, wondering why I didn't make it stop. And ironically, the worst part was when it did stop.

For it was then that she beheld Teddy.

Again: no need to go into detail. Most of us have had a beloved stuffed friend who has endured The Worst. Daughter was distraught not only because she was ill and had temporarily lost the comfort of her friend, but, worse still, she had been the one who had brought him to such a sorry state. It brought back memories of when I was small and sick and had subjected my own teddy bear to the ravages of childhood devotion. The more creatively named Bobby Brown Bear is still around; in fact, I tripped on him as I was trying to strip the bed (without being sick or dropping the thrashing boy).

I scooped up the well loved and somewhat crusty beloved one of my childhood and took him to the bathroom where cleanup operations had begun. And that was when I was struck by the aforementioned gratitude. Husband was sitting on the bathroom floor holding daughter in his lap, pieta style, cleaning her off with baby wipes, reassuring her that Teddy's fate was not her fault and that all would be well. It was a snapshot of a loving father comforting his daughter in a way that only a father can do for his child. It's what the Father wants to do for each one of us. And He needed to awaken me in the middle of the night with a dousing of vomit to get my attention and tell me: "Look at your husband and daughter. That is how I want to love you."

When she was resting in a freshly made Family Bed, I offered Daughter my little bear, hoping he would do for the night, explaining that he was battle-worn and still with me. Her little mouth twitched as she held him close and whispered, "Thank you Mommy, thank you for sharing your own favorite Teddy with me." She looked up at me with gratitude and adoration, tears thick on her eyelashes. And I got my second grace that night: God let me know the pure unadulterated joy of giving my beloved child security and peace in the face of her sadness and despair. He allowed me to feel what He feels when I let him comfort me.

Teddy has been made new and has returned to his rightful place in the crook of Daughter's arm. And when I'm clinging to the edge of The Family Bed, I look over and see Teddy and say a little prayer of thanksgiving for small discomforts and the great graces revealed therein.