It used to be such a hassle, to have to put my son on the toilet every night before going up to bed. I was usually tired by then, after a long day of work, and it seemed so much effort to wake him, half carry his floppy body to the bathroom, sit him on the toilet, making sure he didn’t fall off it or in it, guarding him so he wouldn’t trip as he hurried back to his bed. But now I miss that.
Now, I like it when he sleeps in the bed with us, in the middle, nestled between our orthopaedic pillows. In the morning we have a special time, between seven and seven thirty, when his mum is already downstairs getting the older ones ready. I get him his baby books from beside the bed, and he looks through them and makes all the noises while I dose, pressing snooze on my phone.
No Rhyme, No Reason 