As I began cleaning out the bottom bunk, I hadn’t fully grasped the emotional weight of the task at hand. My youngest son, Leo, had turned the space into a haven for stuffed animals, and I had to sift through an astonishing array of toys: Legos, plastic dinosaurs, and remnants of snacks that had mysteriously made their way down. After a considerable effort, I finally cleared it out. I donated a few stuffed animals and dressed the bed in fresh sheets. Lacking a twin comforter, I opted for a well-loved quilt made by my grandmother, adorned with whimsical pink whales. I gathered Leo’s favorite pillows, featuring characters from his beloved cartoons, and arranged his collection of plush toys: hedgehogs, Daniel Tiger, and Winnie the Pooh.
“Look, Leo!” I exclaimed, “I’ve made your bed! You can sleep here tonight!”
“Yay!” he cheered, while his older siblings gathered around, eager to share in the excitement of him sleeping in the bottom bunk.
“I’ve got the little guy thrilled about his own bed in the boys’ room,” I announced to my husband when he returned from work.
“You’re incredible,” he replied, beaming.
As night fell, I lay next to Leo, reminding his older brothers multiple times to keep the noise down. Eventually, they quieted, and after nursing for a bit, Leo drifted off to sleep. I carefully rolled away and slipped out of the softly lit room, still unaware of the emotional shift taking place.
“Oh wow, we have the chance for some privacy now,” my husband remarked, glancing at our empty bedroom.
While I relished the thought of having a space to ourselves again, a wave of sadness washed over me. My baby was in his own bed. Not just any baby—Leo is my youngest, my last. I realized that I would no longer awaken to the gentle warmth of his small body curled up against me, nor would I be jolted awake by his night terrors. That chapter was closing, and he no longer required my nighttime comfort.
“But he’s still a baby,” I protested quietly.
“He’ll be in here in half an hour begging for you,” he reassured me, dismissing my concern.
“You’re probably right,” I conceded. So, we locked the door and embraced our newfound freedom.
However, my husband was mistaken. Leo slept soundly through the night, only waking to wonder why I wasn’t beside him. The second night passed the same way, but by the third night, Leo hesitated to sleep in his own bed. My heart ached as I encouraged him to try it out, reassuring him that he could always come find me if he felt scared. “Okay, Mama,” he mumbled, and quickly fell asleep.
I had hoped that Leo would sneak into our room, clutching a stuffed hedgehog, and curl up next to me. My older boys still do this occasionally, and they’re six and eight now. I thought I had more time; I thought this was just a transition, not a farewell.
Yes, I appreciate our privacy. I’m grateful that my bedroom is once again mine—a place where I can enjoy music, watch shows, and, importantly, share intimacy with my husband. Co-sleeping has been our reality for so long, filled with adaptations and unspoken agreements. Now, we could reclaim our space.
Yet, the bed feels vast and empty. What was once a cozy arrangement of a twin bed attached to a queen is now a stark contrast. Our six-year-old has crept in a few times recently, but his sharp elbows and limbs are no match for the softness of a toddler’s cuddle. As I lie next to my husband, I ponder the permanence of this new reality. This is how life will be moving forward—gradually lessening in need, always fading, always feeling a little lost.
It’s the natural order of things, I know. This is what parenthood means: watching your children grow and learn to live independently. We celebrate their milestones, even as we grapple with the bittersweet nature of letting go. In a moment of nostalgia, I reclaim one of my childhood teddy bears from the boys’ room. They won’t notice. Holding it close, I drift off to sleep. I will miss my little one, but I also look forward to the boy he is becoming. Somehow, I can cherish both feelings simultaneously.
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Summary
As my youngest son transitions to sleeping in his own bed, I reflect on the bittersweet emotions that accompany this milestone. While I cherish the newfound privacy in our bedroom, I also grapple with the loss of those intimate nighttime moments that will never return. Parenthood is a journey of letting go, and as I embrace the changes, I find comfort in holding both nostalgia and excitement for the future.