Day 21, and recovery has taken an unexpected twist: I don’t know where to sleep these days. My two-year-old and four-year-old girls are in with Mum, leaving me one option — bunking with my six-year-old son.
The Sleeping Situation
Now, I’m still on strict “Dracula mode”: flat on my back, arms crossed, the occasional side roll thrown in just to feel alive. Sharing a bed in this condition is already risky. Sharing a bed with a six-year-old boy? That’s another level entirely.
The Octopus Effect
Sleeping next to him is like sharing a bed with a drunk octopus looking for its car keys. Arms, legs, knees, elbows — all flying around with no warning and no pattern. One minute he’s starfished across the mattress, the next he’s curled up like a cat on my chest. At least when I slept in the hospital, the nurses didn’t kick me in the ribs every hour.
Small Moments of Gold
But here’s the thing: somewhere between the karate chops and headbutts, there’s a sweetness to it. He’s proud to “look after Dad,” even if that means sleep-fighting me through the night. He whispers questions about my scar, asks when I’ll be better, and occasionally rolls over just to check if I’m still there.
The Dad Trade-Off
So yes, I’m sore. Yes, I’m still stuck on my back like a vampire. And yes, sleeping with a six-year-old octopus means I wake up feeling like I’ve been in a bar fight.
But really, how many dads get to say their recovery included nightly rugby league tackles from a pint-sized front row forward — and lived to tell the tale? If Bluey can survive an episode of Rug Island, I guess I can survive another night of Octopus Bedtime.
The Hernia Diaries: Sit-ups were a mistake.
About the Author:
Rob Allen is a graphic designer, dad of three under six, and unwilling hernia expert. When he’s not juggling deadlines or nappies, he’s writing The Hernia Diaries from the couch — one ice pack and stool softener at a time.
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