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This morning, as on most others, I awake to a swift and decisive blow to the temple. A second blow wakes me again 5 minutes later. My 3-year-old’s feet have a built in snooze timer.

My 5-year-old lays across the base of the bed, cutting off the circulation to my feet — the only part of me that has really slept well. They (my feet) are still asleep.

My wife wakes with a loud scream a few minutes later. She is precariously positioned on the ledge of her side with both arms pinned at her sides. A single movement will cause a painful 3-foot fall to the floor. Our 1-year-old has just dug his sharp new incisors into her shoulder, drawing just a bit of blood. It’s his very effective way of letting us know he’s ready for breakfast. (I’m thinking of trying the technique at a restaurant the next time our waiter takes too long.)

Some call it co-sleeping and consider it a lifestyle choice. I call it aggravated sleep deprivation. We haven’t chosen it; our children have. They’ve also learned, instinctively I think, to make the transition to our bed during the phases of sleep in which we are most vulnerable.

Our 1-year-old is the first in our bed. His crying starts either minutes after we’ve fallen into a deep sleep or moments after we’ve decided we may not want to sleep right away. He doesn’t want a bottle. He doesn’t need a change. He just wants to be held — and not lying down — standing up. He requires this treatment for approximately half an hour until he is ready to lay down between me and my wife. Try to put him in his crib and the cycle resets to minute 1.

Our 3-year old joins us somewhere between 3 and 4 a.m. accompanied by her blanket and a stuffed animal that carries every germ that’s ever lived in our home. She is a Ninja — we never notice her until it’s too late. She sleeps best diagonally, forcing us to the edges. Her razor sharp toenails are always close to my jugular. My dreams regularly include knife fights and plank-walking.

Our 5-year-old joins us somewhere between 5 and 6 a.m., filling in any remaining space. She needs to wake up very soon to start telling us she wants to watch TV.

How did we get here? The answer is simple: we are weak, and tired. Our children are smarter and have stronger wills when it comes to sleep choices (and many, many other things). How could we have avoided this? My thoughts turn to that fateful day almost 15 years ago when we bought our bed. “A king is just way too much bed for us. We’ll never need that kind of space,” said I.

Maybe Santa will bring us a new king size bed. With our luck, he’ll want to climb in with us.