ABSTRACT
Until my daughter was 7 years old, her father and I slept together in a capacious and comfortable bed, which was a significant part of her world from when she was newborn. In the night, she was fed there and, if she couldn’t settle, stayed and slept there. She had her morning feed there, while we drank tea in bed and started the day, the three of us, a small family.1 Later, when she was old enough to have a single bed and big enough for our bed to feel cramped with three in it, there were occasions when she would come in with one of us while the other one slept in her bed for the rest of the night. That was part of shared child care. It was flexible and for the most part unproblematic. It reflected the central position she had in our triangular relationship, the only and much-treasured child. The clear assumption, however, was that it was the parental bed; that is, that big bed symbolised the impossibility of her turning into reality the phantasy of displacing either of us from our privileged relationship with each other. Having said that, her place when she was there was usually between us.
