Daisy got sick last night, so we brought her into our bed. All three
of us hadn't slept in the same bed together since a brief ill-fated
experiment with the "family bed" back when she was a baby and her
sleep problems were turning us into the living dead (but not as
lively).

Beds, as it turns out, are not built for three people. I'm sure if
you're doing some sort of sex act that I can only dream of, then it's
a happy fun place, but if you're just trying to sleep, it kind of
sucks ass (note, this was not necessarily the act I was referring to).
With the three of us there was always someone moving, coughing,
squirming, or seemingly planning a jihad. "Daisy!" I'd stage-whisper,
"Enough with the ulululus!"

Also, there were only two pillows. Hank deftly snagged one for her
very own, leaving me to share one with my feverish and chilled
daughter. Normally, I OWN my pillow. I hug it, wrap my arms around
it, and position it just so. I make sweet sweet looooove to my
pillow. Having a sick kid hunkered down on her end of the pillow
totally kills the mood.

There was not much sleep to be had.

Astonishingly my daughter literally bounded out of bed this morning,
performing cartwheels, so I'm hopeful that tonight will be more
sleepful.