I have a confession to make: I’m sleeping with two guys. Every. Single. Night.

The first one is my husband. Bald goofy guy, but ya gotta love him.

Night after night I tell myself that I will stop sleeping with the other one. But when he comes to me and whispers my name in the dark, I’m helpless. I’m Jell-O. Of course, I’m usually half-asleep. But he’s three-years-old, and I’m a sucker.

I know some non-parents might skoff at the idea of bed sharing, or be staring down their noses and muttering half-phrases with words like “habit,” “break,” or “pushover.” And then there are the rest of us: exhausted, adapting, hopeful, doing what it takes to get some shut-eye.

Most nights I don’t mind. This wasn’t exactly the kind of threesome I envisioned throughout my 20s. But hey, having kids makes you older and wiser, or kinder and gentler, or great tasting and less filling – um, something like that.

At least Lane loves to cuddle…and pee the bed….on my side….. Seems like no matter the man, I still have to sleep in the wet spot.