Because I like her writing and her choice of things to write about. Here she is on the family bed.

I don’t get it. In the Home section of the New York Times just recently, there was an article about children and parents sharing the same bed, otherwise known as the Family Bed. I thought we were so over that already. What is the big deal about the Family Bed? Why is it a deal at all?

I shared a bed with my parents until I was well into puberty, together with my brother who was born some years later. My parents didn’t have a king-size bed, only two twins put together.

There is nothing more comforting and secure than sleeping next to a human body, more so when there are two of them. Sleeping between my parents was simply sublime. I had no need for nightlights, I didn’t need to be read to, and I certainly didn’t need disgusting battery-operated music to put me to sleep. Instead, I was lulled by the sound of their voices in quiet conversation with each other or the pages of Newsweek and Life magazines being turned when they continued to read long after I had dozed off. I particularly loved falling asleep in my father’s armpit, my legs stretched across his in a diagonal line. I had no need for pillows or stuffed animals. I had my parents…READ MORE AT HER BLOG, MOM AFTER-HOURS