Jude sleeps with me.
It's not a happy cuddly family bed like you read about in those parenting books and on blogs where both parents are just so pleased to sleep with their child and they can't imagine not having those little commas punctuating the sentence of their sheets. It's not like that.
It's like a bad dream where you know you're dreaming and you try to wake yourself up and so you wake up but then weird stuff is happening and you realize that you simply dreamed that you woke up but are in fact still smack in the middle of your bad dream. I used to have a recurring dream like that. I would wake up within the dream within the dream within the dream. And it gets so OLD because you open your eyes and you know you didn't really open your eyes, but you want to so badly.
Sleeping with Jude also reminds me of this other dream I used to have. I had it from grade school into college. Same dream every time. My sister and I are standing at the end of our long driveway and we are kidnapped by the mailman. He takes us to the post office, only the post office is a maze and it takes an enormous amount of time and effort to navigate this damn maze and we finally get back to our driveway, house within shouting distance when that mailman just scoops us right back up again and deposits us back at the post office where once again we must work to escape, similar to the way you are now trying to find the end of this sentence.
Sleeping with Jude was beautiful for about two minutes AND an accident. I did not mean to bring my boy into my bed. But nursing while lying down was a solution for us and then I fell asleep. I didn't bother to move him between nursings. Now I cannot get him off my breast. It has escalated into misery particularly since we've been back in Korea.
So. It's time to wean the child. And I don't want to and I want to. I most definitely want my bed back. And I most days want my boobs back.
There comes a time.