Having Camden in our bed with us is not something that Scott and I had planned on doing before he was born. We bought a Co-Sleeper, which is a sidecar that attaches to our bed, for Camden to sleep in, but from very early on he had difficulty sleeping on his own. We welcomed his little body into our bed and immediately fell in love with the idea of sharing this space with him. He snuggled close to us, felt warmth and comfort and slept soundly in our little "nook." Waking up to your child's beautiful face each morning and sharing that snuggle time might be the most incredible thing in the world. When he turned seven months we felt like things were getting a little tight in our queen sized bed. 
Camden wasn't sleeping as soundly and neither were Scott and I. We worked hard, and continue to work, on getting him comfortable in his own crib in his own room! He sleeps pretty well in between feedings, but still nurses throughout the night. He still comes into bed with us on particularly rough nights and we are amazed at how our presence calms him right down. I'm not gonna lie, nighttime parenting is challenging and exhausting and he is not a very good sleeper, which makes all of us pretty sleep deprived, but I keep reminding myself that being a mommy doesn't end at 7:00pm when he goes to bed. Although the transition to his crib wasn't an easy one, I wouldn't trade our co-sleeping months for anything. Happy National Poetry Month! (Here are the words, but I can't find the title and author! oops!)
Having you sleep with me
is a little like having you back in my womb.
You turn and the skin of my blanket rises and billows.
You stretch and your heel kicks my hip bone,
your miniature elbow pries into my ribs.
I couldn't sleep then either, too hard to move a muscle or change
position.
But back then I couldn't turn and look at you in the dark,
discerning the miniscule mountain range of your profile against
pale dawn creeping in at the window.
I couldn't inhale the holy incense of a very small human—
mostly clean with dried yogurt and Vicks around the edges.
I couldn't feel your tiny arms reaching desperately for me in the
shadows,
stretching around my neck and relaxing in relief.
I feel sorry for the me before I knew you.
I feel sad for myself years from now when you are grown.
But in this now, with a sigh echoing your own,
I lie awake and content in this humble embrace
encompassing the whole world.
