We are closet co-sleepers. Or at least we were. For more than a year a little 2-3 year old has shuffled over to our room every night somewhere between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m. I could be sound asleep, but most nights I could hear him come over before he even crossed his doorway. Or, on other nights I would wake up to "Mommy!" being whispered in my face.
We knew it had to end eventually. We were trying to strategize ways to transition that would be painless - for everyone involved. I never thought I would have a child that slept with my husband and I 90% of the time. But that was before I woke up next to this.....
It doesn't matter though. Because it ended. I didn't come up with a great strategy. We didn't have nights of crying it out, or painful evenings of having to argue with him over which bed he was sleeping in.
It just ended. On his own he decided he didn't need to come over anymore. And I didn't even realize it until last night. Since I've been home from school, he hasn't come over once.
I should be thrilled that it was so easy.
I should be jumping up and down, high-fiving Dustin on our awesome strategy of no strategy at all.
Instead I'm trying to remember the last time Miles curled up next to me or whispered loudly in my face that he needed water. Because it was the last time, and I didn't know it was the last time when it happened.
And it just reminds me that there will be other "last times"....that I won't remember....because I won't know until it's too late.