Or bad sleepers lead to co-sleeping.
We had a lovely cot. DS screamed all the way in it, screamed while in it and didn't stop screaming until he was taken out of it. It ended up as the most expensive laundry basket ever.
We didn't like co-sleeping. We were scared we'd squish him as a teeny tiny and we did not love the Ninja elbow and knee attacks when he was less tiny. But we needed to sleep at least some of the time.
He didn't do a lot of sleeping in our bed. More whiffling around, grabbing a boob when he fancied a nibble and playing with his toes.
But at least he wasn't screaming his head off, driving us and everybody else in the neighbouring flats insane. It is true, Italians love kids. But not so much when they scream like a tortured banshee throughout the night. And at least in our bed he'd stay mostly quietly in one place while DH and I dozed fitfully on the outside edges of the bed through the night.
Well some of it. DS didn't like going to bed before midnight and got bored of his toes by 5am so would explore our faces with poky little fingers until we got up in defeat and made the world more interesting for him again.
We finally got him to spend an entire night in his own bed when he was six.
The older generation on DH's side of the family were all deeply sympathetic and surprised none of their time honoured tricks worked on the Mini Insomniac.
The older generation on my side of the family thought it was hilarious. The word Nemesis was used a lot.
My parents did not co-sleep with me. They just slowly lost the will to live due to extreme sleep deprivation. By the time I was seven they were drugging me with Phenegan on the advice of the family doctor. I still didn't sleep, but at least the hallucinations were interesting enough to keep me in bed and not clattering around my bedroom with all my Cindy and Pippa dolls.
We have one child. We weren't at all keen on the idea of risking another one who'd inherited my insomnia gene.