In one way we are co-sleepers by default, because we’re four people living in about 800 square feet. (That’s one human for every 200 square feet, or the minimum nonsmoking area in any employee lunchroom in the state of Minnesota. For what that’s worth.) When we looked around all the limited square footage, we figured we had two choices: Bring TwoBert into bed with us, or fill the bathtub with throw pillows.

Even if we had more space, though, I’d still advocate for having the little nibbler sleep with us. The biggest plus was much easier night feedings, because the child only had to roll over onto the boob for his midnight snack and then fall right back asleep again. The alternative—having to run into his room, calm him down, feed him, and get him back to sleep—seems far too onerous.

I admit having a fear of squashing him in my sleep, because I’ve trained myself over the years to sleep heavily enough to ignore all the pinheads who cruise by my window on motorcycles at all hours of the night. But that fear passed pretty quickly, and there were lots of helpful guidelines to ensure that the boys slept as safely as possible. When the time came, our first son went into a crib, and then to his big boy bed, without incident. (Perhaps the bed itself provided an incentive.)

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