The other two newborns of my life, I never let them sleep in the bed with us. I was afraid they would get accidentally covered by the blanket and suffocate. Or roll their face into one us and suffocate. Or get rolled over on and suffocate. Or roll over so their face was smooshed in the mattress and suffocate.
These worries made me too tense to fall asleep or stay asleep if they were there.
This time, I'm somewhat more relaxed. It also helps that the weather is warm, so we aren't using the fluffy (suffocating!) comforter.
And I've noticed an interesting thing: nightmares, which have always been a big problem for me in the postpartum period, have not shown up as viciously. And the worst ones have happened only when I was napping while Mr. Right had the baby somewhere else.
I've been thinking a lot more this time around about how gradual the separation into two beings is for mother and baby. The cutting of the cord used to seem like such a big deal to me, but I've realized that I hardly noticed when it happened. (This time, I did insist on a photo, which we've somehow always missed in the past.) We stay a tightly coupled symbiotic unit for so long afterwards, both of us frequently needing each other's presence to feel calm, me waking up with milk begging to be drunk before baby wakes up desperate to eat. It's quite something.