The End Of Snuggling 2/11/09

It is time to ban snuggles from my house.

I don't mean the fabric softener with that creepy little bear on the label, and I don't mean that strange blanket with arms that's over-saturating the infomercial circuit these days. I'm talking about the practice of lying down next to my child at bedtime in order to help him relax and fall asleep.

I realize that my husband and I are completely to blame for falling into this routine. We "Ferberized" both our kids when they were little, allowing them to cry themselves to sleep for a few nights in order to learn how to comfort themselves and sleep peacefully on their own. Of course this was a much easier endeavor when the kids were too small to climb out of their cribs and come looking for us. Once they were in "big boy" beds it became all too easy for them to wander out of bed mere minutes after being tucked in, complaining that they couldn't sleep. My husband and I really tried to follow all the parenting books by "...calmly but firmly telling the child to return to his bed." But calm quickly turns to annoyance and then yelling after repeating, "Go to bed!" six or eight times. At this point you'll do anything to get that child to sleep.

Hence the snuggle was born. My youngest in particular seems to crave the comfort that comes from having one of his parents lie down next to him until he falls asleep. I can't fault him. As an infant he was nursed in our bed each night, something many families practice. He now equates security with having his parent's dragon breath wash over him as he sleeps.

Though the process of "snuggling" seems like a harmless enough thing, the practice takes its toll on our household when it's repeated night after night after night. Why? Because inevitably I fall asleep too. And there goes the rest of my evening.

I know other couples that spend those few precious hours catching up on each other's day, paying bills, watching television or reading a good book. When asked to "snuggle", I typically fall asleep myself, only to wake after an hour or more completely disoriented with a crick in my neck from contorting myself on a twin-sized bed. At this point, I have two choices: Shake off my sleepy haze and try to be productive, or just crawl into my own gloriously grown-up bed and go back to sleep. Usually, I choose the latter.
This wreaks havoc on my household. Clutter abounds on every surface, bills remain unpaid, and movies from the library accrue late fees.

And most recently, the final straw. One night, after snuggling with my child, I woke hours later in an exhausted haze. Clearly I was in no shape to be productive, so I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my teeth before bed. In the hazy darkness of the bathroom, I noticed that someone had left the toothpaste on the counter by the sink. I flipped off the cap, squeezed some on my toothbrush and began to brush. At this point, I became fully awake when I realized that what was on my toothbrush was most definitely NOT toothpaste. Spitting like a crazed llama I flipped on the light only to discover that I had begun brushing my teeth with antifungal cream.

Now, like most parents, I've had my rare instances of calling poison control for something my children have stuck in their mouths. However, I had not yet experienced the humiliation of calling them at eleven p.m. to confess that I'd brushed my teeth with antifungal cream. Luckily, the person working the hotline contained her giggles while assuring me that the toxicity level was quite low and that I probably wouldn't even suffer an upset stomach from what I had ingested. When I railed at my husband about the incident, his response was, "Be thankful it wasn't Preparation H!"

Farewell snuggles. You've served your purpose, but it is time to reclaim my life. My house will be clean, my bills will be paid and my teeth will be brushed with toothpaste every night.