A few weeks ago, as we continued to work through C’s sleep issues, I found myself covered in children. Both boys made their way into our room in the middle of the night, as is typical. J used me as his mattress while pushing his brother away whenever he got close, trying to cuddle. Not being able to curl up next to me, C took my outstretched arm and adjusted it like a pillow, made himself comfortable, and went back to sleep.

I lay there for a moment, baffled by what just happened. My body stopped being my own, and I was a comfort object. A wubbie. A blankly. A favorite stuffy. I’m my kids’ comfort object.

As far as non-mommy comfort objects go, C had two: his wubbie and the baby blanket my godmother made for him. He loved his wubbie. Whenever he couldn’t find it, he’d walk around the house saying, “Wubbieeeee, where are you?!” We tried to ween him off of it with varying degrees of success depending on the day and his mood. We did a good job of it until the pandemic hit, and his world shifted. I decided to let him keep it and restart the weaning process later. As we were broaching the topic again, he decided on his own. One night during bedtime, he was upset, and we tried to give his wubbie to him, and he said, “No!” And then he never asked for it again.

The blanket he still uses from time to time. It lays at the foot of his bed, ready to be used at any moment. The other night when we were settling into bedtime, C got the blanket. He also brought in J’s version of the blanket, proceeded to tuck him in, then made himself cozy under his. My sweet boy.

J never really latched on to anything other than me for comfort. He likes his blanket well enough, and his stuffies are alright, but for him, there’s nothing like lying on my chest to fall asleep. This is equally sweet and frustrating. Sweet for the obvious reasons of bonding, love, etc. Frustrating because sometimes, after a day is being pulled and pushed in multiple directions. The last thing I want is to lie prone while he finds a comfortable spot to fall asleep on. I may sound like an asshole, but this kid tosses and turns over my body like a freshly caught fish flopping on a dock.

As I write this, J is curled up next to me in my bed, using my shoulder as a pillow. I know I should, and I do cherish these moments because there will come a time when cuddling with me is the absolute last thing they’ll want to do. It’s just a struggle sometimes to find some autonomy for myself while being any and everything to my boys.