I have this idealistic notion that sleeping with my child would be this peaceful event. I picture The Munch and me snuggling together, wrapped in a blanket of bliss, as we serenely entangle our limbs. Yet the reality of sharing a bed with a toddler is more like sleeping next to a live wire that is about to electrocute me at any moment.
For one, she thrashes. The Munch flails her limbs periodically and unexpectedly throughout the night, and often kicks me in the back and slaps the shit out of my face. These random assaults usually happen when I am in the deepest part of my sleep, and being awoken by her inadvertent violence makes adrenalin flood my system like I am a cadet at army camp – so then it takes an hour to get back to sleep.
The Munch also talks, yells, moans, and whines in her sleep. It feels like I am witnessing a performance art piece. Her vocal capacity seems to exceed the prowess of when she is awake, and the volume of these random cries startle me to the point of making my heart momentarily stop working.
Then there are the excessive changes of temperature Munch seems to experience. The hotter and sweatier she gets, the closer Munch wants to get to me. It is like lying next to a wood-burning stove that is sizzling alive Smokey the Bear. And of course the extreme warmth makes her flounder even more, continuing the feedback loop of kicking my ass while she slumbers.
She is the most still in the early morning hours, and that is when Munch snuggles up… which sounds sweet, if she weren’t breathing her morning breath directly into my nose. One wouldn’t think that such a stank stench could be produced by such a darling little girl, but it is quite impressive.