The Family Bed: A Story in Generations

Written by Abigail Dotson


Continued from page 1

But this is not a story aboutrepparttar virtues of co-sleeping, for if you are a co-sleeper you have doubtless already read a library of those. Nope, this isrepparttar 111018 story of a co-sleeping alumna. This isrepparttar 111019 story of why we do it: it is what you will remember at three o’clock inrepparttar 111020 morning when your twenty-three month old rolls over to nurse forrepparttar 111021 seventh time that night; this is a mantra you can chant when your sex life has disappeared completely and your idea of well-rested is a solid three hours; this isrepparttar 111022 answer to your repeated “why’s?” when your bed becomes so crowded that, like my mother, you end up spending your nights lying crosswise atrepparttar 111023 foot ofrepparttar 111024 bed hoping for just an hour. It is as simple as this: co-sleepers breed co-sleepers. You’re giving your grandchildrenrepparttar 111025 gift of their parents’ bodies. You’re breeding a noble instinct, a culture of love and commitment, of families raising families instead of a technology of baby monitors and flashing light mobiles. That baby you are cuddling will likely someday know all it is to cuddle his or her own baby deep intorepparttar 111026 night, evening after evening for years and years.

I feel safe inrepparttar 111027 night, for allrepparttar 111028 ways my parents held me rather than a crib. Between my mother and my fatherrepparttar 111029 night time was never more dangerous thanrepparttar 111030 day, and whenrepparttar 111031 slow transition of movement into my own bed began, my parents continued to cuddle me in innovative ways. It is only now, with a daughter of my own to keep me company throughrepparttar 111032 long and short nights, that I understandrepparttar 111033 dual gift of co-sleeping. I thank my parents forrepparttar 111034 nights they kept me close, forrepparttar 111035 bond created andrepparttar 111036 emptiness avoided, for allrepparttar 111037 good I know co-sleeping does for a child. But who knew thatrepparttar 111038 gifts extend way beyond childhood? Today I thank my parents for teaching me to continuerepparttar 111039 tradition; for giving to both me, and my daughter, these nights we now share together. And lord knows, I hope that one day Ruby will lie in bed next to her own sleeping infant, reveling inrepparttar 111040 little body so inspired by her side.

When Abigail's sleeping toddler wakes her up with squirms and snores, she sometimes writes by the moonlight. Her writing has appeared in the compilation Loving Mama: Essays on Natural Childbirth and Parenting as well as in several periodicals.


My Father Holds Me Still

Written by Abigail Dotson


Continued from page 1

When I moved to Washington,repparttar first thing I did in my new apartment was open allrepparttar 111017 windows. When it snowedrepparttar 111018 first time, I watchedrepparttar 111019 snow that I had never seen before falling through an open window, shivering and talking excitedly to my father onrepparttar 111020 phone. When it rained that hard and angry rain that sounds like gunshots pelting down, I heard it through an open window. I wasn’t scared of getting wet or cold or struck by lighting; I was just scared of closing that window. Because when I thought about it, that was how my father always took care of me. That was him telling me how much he loved me. That was his gift to me, his way of saying: “as long as you keep your windows open, Abigail, I will always be able to reach you.” And he did. For years now he has been here and I was always somewhere else, and for years he had found me through that open window. Now I am here and he is somewhere else, but my window stays open. So of allrepparttar 111021 things my father taught me, that isrepparttar 111022 one thing I keep telling myself over and over again right now: “just keep your windows open, Abbe.”

: Abigail is Hebrew for “her fathers joy.” I live in the Santa Cruz Mountains, where the cold air under the canopy of redwoods is a constant comfort, and our heating bill is always a little bit higher than the neighbors. I spend most of my time chasing my two year old daughter Ruby Jane, named after her grandpa John


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