I have a super girly-girl who had this really beautiful wrought iron day bed that I had painted pink and distressed so that it was the perfect "shabby chic" bed that looked like it came from Anthropologie (really from Ikea for $99). Moving two kids into one room did not allow the biggish bed to fit. I loved that she had her own place to be while her brother napped - giving me some actual "quiet time to myself". And, I certainly appreciated that I could send them each to their own rooms for some time out from each other when the going got rough.
Adjusting to one room has been interesting. My son, who used to sleep until about 8 AM started waking before 6 AM. I think perhaps he has always stirred around this time, and without anything exciting to do in his room would doze back off to sleep. Now he wakes and sees his sister sleeping across the room and starts doing the worst things ever for these wee hours of the morning - he sings his ABC's and counts to 10 (with the numbers all out of order) and sings songs from his favorite TV shows at the top of his lungs until his sister is wide awake too. Then they play together and read books for, oh, I don't know, 2 and a 1/2 minutes before they start fighting and screaming at each other. There are mornings that I really, really miss the other bedroom. [Have I mentioned that my brain does not officially wake up until 10 AM?]
But, something happened recently that melted my heart into a huge puddle of blissful mama goo and pretty much redeemed the early morning shared bedroom blues.
Here is how it went down...
Callen had his first nightmare. He woke up sometime around 3 AM screaming and crying. It was heartbreaking and painful. He was so, so sad. He could not tell me in words what was so scary, he just kept crying and saying, "I had a scawy dweam." I stood by his bed for a long time talking to him, holding him, stroking his back, and then I left to go back to sleep after he appeared to be settled. There were a couple of quiet moments, and then he started crying again and repeating his phrase about the "scawy dweam". We repeated this cycle a few times. Me going to comfort him, standing next to his bed, talking him through it, going back to bed and I would lay down for a minute or two and he would start crying again. This lasted about an hour.
The entire time this was happening, Logan was laying there in her bed with her eyes sleepily watching me come and go. Everytime I would come back into the room to comfort her brother she would say, "Callen is still scared about his dream" in her crackly, sleepy voice.
He started crying again and I got out of bed and was rushing back to comfort him again, but just as I got to the bedroom door and was reaching for the knob, I heard Logan say, "Callen, it's okay, Buddy. You're okay. I am here with you. It's okay. Go back to sleep, Buddy. I am here..." She just kept repeating it over and over in her sleepy little voice. He stopped crying and I stood there listening to her soothing him as he did that little shuddering thing that we all do after crying our hearts out. I stood there for a good 5 minutes listening to her comfort him first with her reassuring phrases, and then by singing a song to him. She sang the same song I sing to her when she is scared or worried - "Mighty to Save" - a worship song from Hillsong Church in Australia.
I had to fight every urge in my body not to rush in there and scoop them both up into a heap of hugs. I knew it would ruin the peaceful moment that had settled on their room.
I tiptoed back to bed with tears filling my eyes and thanked God that my kids get to share a room.