Whose bed is this?

Right now I should be sleeping.  I should be fast asleep, dreaming about a clean apartment, or being skinny again, or Jason Segel.  Lord knows I could use my "beauty rest". This morning, however, I gave up this precious allotted amount of time by 4:50 a.m.  Why the *@#& would I do this, you ask?  I blame my son Maximus.
Max is four months old, and already suffers from an addiction.  "What??" You might think to yourself.  "I am reading a blog that a drug-induced mother wrote?" No, of course not.  I gave up drugs days ago.  (insert sarcasm here)  He really has an addiction though, and it is to my bed. 
I can't argue with the kid.  My husband and I enjoy a queen-sized cloud covered in bedding from my favorite store, Target.  This is the place I would vacation to every summer if I could.  So I get why he feels so comfortable here. But.. really? His satisfaction in taking over my side leaves me suffering.  I know what you're thinking-so don't let the kid sleep in your bed dummy!  Oh, if only it were that easy.  You try listening to a baby cry in his crib for even five minutes.  Parents of the world get it.  Before I know it he is happily nestled against me, breastfeeding.  Then he is asleep but I am a human pacifier.  Then he is kicking my left boob repeatedly (um, hello, way to kick the boob that fed you!) Finally he starts oohing and ahhing incessantly, a trait he picked up from his father.  So I vacate the premises, and he falls back asleep immediately.  Go figure. 

The scene of the crime, complete with spit up.