Dreaming of some space

AM I the only one not getting her personal space throughout this flipping pandemic?

Hayley Nissen. Photo: Mike Knott / NewsMail

AM I the only one not getting her personal space throughout this flipping pandemic?

Someone should have sent the memo to my child, who has become a Stage 5 clinger over the past few weeks.

Now, I like a hug as much as the next person, but walking around the house with an extra limb in the shape of a child hanging off my leg isn’t exactly desirable or helpful in the day-to-day running of our house.

It has become so bad, I have started dreaming about what it would be like to let my head fall back on to whisper-soft pillows at night without a 10-tonne Tessie on my chest and a chunk of man flesh beside me.

What it must be like for those other mums who have well-behaved children who sleep in their own beds. The freedom of being able to breathe freely at night and not be woken by wandering hands down their shirts, poking and prodding at their private bits.

My little one likes to get so close, he actually uses my head as a pillow.

When I nudge him towards his father, it’s like an affront and he steamrolls his way over dad to get to me.

I’ve tried hiding under the blankets, but the little devil sniffs me out and wham! I’m on my back again counting sheep and trying to forget that my arm is dead and my butt is tingling.

I wouldn’t mind so much that he was in our bed if he kept still, but our baby moves like he’s front row at a Wiggles concert.

My favourite position is sideways: his head on me and his legs going for dad’s jugular.

Some nights as we both lay there, hands outstretched across the bed in solidarity, I’m reminded of the old rhyme Three in the Bed and think that never a truer thing has been written.

The real kicker to all this, however, happens each morning.

As the alarm sounds alerting us to the beginning of another day, we rub our weary eyes, stretch, groan from a night spent in uncomfortable positions and look down at our little angel who is still sleeping peacefully.

As we make a move to get out of bed, his eyes flutter open and he looks up at us both and smiles.

That smile says a lot of things, but mostly I think it says, “Oh hey, guys. It’s me. Nate. Look, I know I might have kept you awake last night with my circus antics but see how cute I am? Gotta love me.”

And love him we do … until five minutes later when we’re preparing his breakfast, which requires not only heating in the microwave (total of one minute) but then a five-minute cooling period.

That smile turns into a wail which turns into our baby throwing himself on the floor in a fit of rage, sobbing uncontrollably because he’s “hangry”.

This in turn makes me want to cry, which in turns makes my partner want to cry. Needless to say, we are no longer “morning people”.

Originally published as