If my bedroom walls could talk...

A love letter to co-sleeping, breastfeeding, and the era of babies.

My heart feels tender this morning, it feels this way a lot lately. I worry there is not enough softness, compassion, and empathy in the world. I sat down to write this morning thinking I would write about that, but something whispered inside me, show the softness instead.

Here is something I wrote recently inspired by the prompt - “If your bedroom walls could talk…” There will be no audio because I cannot read it without hysterically crying, I tried.

If these bedroom walls could talk, they would say love lives here. Each night, a mother tends to her child. At the start of this child’s life, he would wake every hour. For over a year this went on and the mother grew tired. The child would fuss and the mother would tend. Sometimes she would nurse him back to sleep with no words uttered from her lips. Sometimes she would cry alongside him or curse out loud at what she perceived as her misfortune. But no matter how she felt, whether rage or adoration, she showed up for her child. She held him, nursed him, sang to him.

As he grew, the child woke less, but he still needed his mother. The needs changed, now the mother fetches water and a snack. Sometimes she rushes him to the bathroom in the middle of the night. The child still wakes, most nights the mother holds him. They share the same pillow and he cuddles up close. Sometimes he rests his head on his mother’s shoulder and the mother wonders how that is comfortable at all as he quickly falls back asleep undisturbed by his neck craned at a weird angle.

But night after night, the child sleeps in this contorted position and the mother welcomes it. Because even though some nights she longs not to be touched, she knows these nights together are fleeting, even when they seem to last forever. This mother knows the heart wrenching truth - she will not always be so needed by her son and he will not always want to be held by her. The day will come when he sleeps alone and his growing apart from her will only continue from there. So, the mother lets the frustration and exhaustion pass because she remembers the truth about motherhood: children are only little for just a little while.

If these bedroom walls could talk, they would say each night they watched me become the mother I hoped I would be…loving, nurturing and hopelessly human. My son was given a love and reassurance I had never known and because of this, his heart will be fuller than mine ever was at his age. He will feel a bit safer and rooted in the world because I chose to mother him at night. And for that, we will both forever be grateful.

Since I wrote this draft, things have changed at night. My son has found sleeping on my shoulder to be uncomfortable, but we still share the same pillow. He cuddles with his dad more. He decided one day he wanted his dad to put him to sleep instead of me. Soon after that, he stoped asking for milk. Our breastfeeding relationship ending quickly and I had whiplash, I was not ready for end. I find myself thinking I could have kept going for a while. I had no idea how much it was healing me and softening me until it disappeared.

While I knew my son has been growing up slowly over time, it feels like he grew up overnight. A harsh reality set in that my baby was no longer a baby. The grief of how it all went by too damn fast tangles my heart in knots. It feels like yesterday he was born and it also feels like a lifetime ago.

I loved and hated the time we shared together at night. Some nights I couldn’t stand being touched, sometimes I questioned my choices, but now that it is all in the rearview mirror, I am so glad I gave both of us that time together. A very young part of me needed that experience to heal and face her own wounds.

I have gained access to my softness and humanity by choosing to co-sleep and breastfeed at night. It started as an obvious choice to me when I was pregnant, but it quickly became apparent to me how I needed this for my own healing, how much I wished I could of had this experience with my mother.

There is something about the closeness I longed for as all infants do, I had no idea how active that longing was still in my system. The longing grew so intense for the first year of my son’s life when he woke I expected to find a brown-haired baby girl next to me. As much as I woke to tend to him, I was also tending to myself.

Even though it was hard to show up night after night, especially with a child who struggled with sleeping, my ability to show up showed me I am the mother I long to be. I can be soft, compassionate and open even in the midst of the uncomfortable. Sure, I had moments where I yelled or complained or screamed something like just go to sleep.

But most nights, I was there. Even when I was angry or frustrated, I was there. Those nights taught me how to be a mother, the mother I never had and the mother I longed to be. Those nights taught me I could show up for the most traumatized and wounded parts of me, parts of me that did not have words for their experiences. Those nights taught me love lives in small choices, moments, and sacrifices (although we can all argue sacrificing your sleep and thereby your sanity is not small at all).

Now more than ever, I also understand the choice not to co-sleep or breastfeed or have a child in your room, it is not for the faint of heart. It takes a commitment to love like I have never known. And I do not mean love for your child, but the bigger love, the greater love, the universal love.

A commitment to being soft and open when all you want to be is asleep.

There is no right or wrong choice, regardless of what we have been told to believe. There is only what works for us and our child(ren). There are only the choices that infuse love into ourselves and our child(ren).

Motherhood has taught me love can emerge anywhere in any moment, alongside healing, if we create the space.

Thank you to the members of the Creative Circle for your feedback and bringing this piece to life, you have my deep respect and appreciation.

Onward,

Emma

Welcome to Being in Motherhood, I’m a writer, artist, and mother constantly redefining myself. I write about being human while navigating motherhood, neurodivergence and living a full creative life. I believe reflection and compassion can change the world, the way we see things, and how we be here.

I invite you to join the Creative Circle, my paid subscriber space. We gather each month to talk about writing and creativity, share what we are working on, and give and receive gentle, supportive feedback. This time together fuels the creative revolution of women whose ideas, words, and self-expressions are birthed around the edges of motherhood.

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