You know those articles you see occasionally in the weekend supplements all about the psychology of sleep positions? The ones with the photos of an unfeasibly good looking couple with pressed pyjamas and remarkably dribble-free pillows? The ones that get hastily trotted out in a time when it’s not so much a slow news week, but the globe has pretty much stopped turning and the world’s population is hibernating? Yes, those. I was thinking about those the other day, as I hauled myself out of bed one morning, unrested and terminally fatigued. I was thinking what a load of bollocks they are. They say nothing of the truth of sleeping positions for parents. So, to put the record straight, here is the undefinitive guide to sleep positions of parents.
Firstly, some quick introductions.
This is daddy. Actual daddy does not hang out in skater-wear, but it was slightly Hobson’s choice. I was looking for a fireman, so that I could make an extremely puerile joke about the length of his hose, but I am far too mature for that. (I couldn’t find the hose). I could have gone for a pirate, but the thought of a man lying in bed with a hook instead of a left hand made me wince too much.
This is me, mummy. Can I just clarify that this looks absolutely nothing like me, but it is surprisingly hard to find a female Playmobil person, let alone one that resembles a knackered forty four year old with permanent bed-hair. There was a female pirate (a piratess?) but she’s gone missing. I have a suspicion my son has buried her in the garden. So I am stuck with this: a colonial woman with an alarming sense of colour coordination, as well as an even more alarming amount of what looks like ginger stubble on her face. Either that or she’s in early onset leprosy. And just for the record, I do not tend to wear a sun visor in bed.
And this is our three year old son. This is by far the most accurate depiction of a family member. In fact, one might almost call it his doppelganger. Granted, my son has a nose, fingers and a couple of opposable thumbs, but let’s not get picky.
The primary sleep positions of parents are as follows:
The Parallel Planks. Gone are the days of The Spoon, or the Entwined. The Parallel Plank is all about two people who get into bed and are so bloody knackered they haven’t got the energy to turn onto their sides. Lying on the back to sleep is not the most comfortable of positions, but don’t worry. They won’t be asleep for long.
The Interloper Fidget. And so it begins. Entering from the foot of the bed, son has divided the planks and mimics the sleeping parents, with one main difference: he doesn’t shitting-well keep still. As you see in Fig. 5, all three sets of eyes are wide open.
The Dual Laser Death Stare. Desperate to stop the son from poking his finger up their noses, kicking her in the stomach or kneeing him in the fireman’s hose, the parents have now adopted the Dual Laser Death Stare. Glaring at the son from both sides, they futilely attempt to keep him still with only the strength of their combined gazes. Often accompanied by the sound of grinding teeth.
The Inversion. Usually only recognised by mummy when she realises she has five small toes in her mouth, the Inversion is popular with kids who like to break the rules. Once awake and conscious of the inverted son, neither parent can then sleep for fear of having to explain to the paediatric A&E consultant just how they kneed their son full in the face and partially suffocated him “by accident”.
The Classic N. The N stands for No. As in No Sleep. Or as in No, you cannot have both legs on the mattress, actually. One parent enjoys the son grinding his head into their neck, a little like death by sandpaper and compressed windpipe all in one, whilst the other sustains multiple toe-nail induced deep tissue wounds to their upper thigh.
The Pillow Bridge. This is by far the most structurally sound of all the positions. Once the son lodges himself between the parents, he assumes the tensile strength of titanium and the load-bearing capacity of a ten foot wide concrete column, and cannot be moved. The Pillow Bridge forces both parents to deploy the Single Buttock Clench to ensure they stay on the bed, thus ensuring the only thing part from their son to go to sleep is the other, semi-dangling bum cheek.
The Mummy Mount. Whilst a traditional Mummy Mount is what got the parents into this god-forsaken predicament to begin with, this is a completely different kettle of 3 year olds. The side effects of the Mummy Mount are that mummy’s core body temperature rises by 47.5 degrees whilst her lung capacity decreases by 1.25 litres. The son, however, can sleep like a fifty foot log, as that is approximately what he seems to weigh.
The Partial Surrender. This sleep position usually occurs between the hours of 3am and 5am. The Partial Surrender comprises incremental movements from the son that gradually forces one or other parent to give up and leave the bed. In Fig. 11, daddy has surrendered and traipsed to the spare room, whilst mummy secretly wishes she’d bloody escaped there three hours ago.
The Total Surrender (or the Victory Starfish). Both parents have waved the white duvet and vacated in the Total Surrender; one to the spare bed, the other downstairs as it is pointless to try and sleep. The son slumbers in a Victory Starfish, a sleep that is solitary and ultimately refreshing, with only the faint sound from downstairs of a string of vociferous expletives to accompany his gentle snoring.