Before either of my children were born, I knew I would breastfeed them. I didn't know they'd spend more time in my bed than their own. Nor did I realize how much I would enjoy it.
I can't remember whether I was familiar with the term "cosleeping" during my first pregnancy. It was just something that happened as a matter of survival. Our bedroom is large enough to accommodate a crib, so it made sense to set it up there instead of in one of the other rooms on the opposite end of the house. After a few nights of getting up every two hours to nurse Olivia (and falling asleep in the rocking chair), I decided to bring her to bed with me. Ahhh! Sleep! I only had to wake up enough to get her latched on or to swap places so she could nurse on the other side.
Ditto for Jesse (except he moved to my bed even earlier). My husband isn't crazy about the arrangement, but he'd rather not have a zombie for a wife. He hasn't lost as much sleep, either. There have been many times he didn't even realize Jesse woke up during the night because I got him latched on when he started squirming, instead of when he started crying.
Sometimes I, too, yearn to have our bed back to ourselves. But I love snuggling with Jesse (especially when it's cold). I love to stroke his downy head, feel his little legs curled up against my belly, and wake up with him babbling in my ear. They grow up so fast that I don't mind sharing our bed for such a relatively short time.