Fingers Crossed

For the following reasons Lea, my almost 2-year-old, sleeps in our bed:

1. I was too lazy to perform the elaborate machinations required to persuade her to sleep in her crib when she was a baby. I had already displayed my strength in battle with the other two, after all; they sleep easily and without incident in their own beds. With nothing left to prove, I grew complacent. This, by the way, is the reason I am not an Olympic...swimmer. For example.

2. She is my final baby. This does things to you.

3. The spousal unit had no complaints about our extra bedmate (she doesn't sleep on top of him, you see; only me). Without anyone poking a stick at me to kick her out, I grew complacent. This, by the way, is the reason I do not sweep under the...dining room table more often. For example.

But today! Today we made a big to-do about going on an adventure to IKEA, the mecca of impossible-to-pronounce and hilariously inexpensive items for hearth and home. We bought her a bed. It's 11:45 at night, and she's still sleeping in it. In about fifteen minutes, I'm certain she will wake up. Because I am lazy and complacent, I will end up taking her to our bed, and at about 3:00 in the morning I will be awakened by the horrible sensation that someone is cutting off my air supply. It will just be her, sleeping across my neck.

But who knows? I could get lucky and breathe well through the whole night. It's 11:49, and my fingers are crossed.