If you survey our bedroom, it looks pretty standard – dresser, chest of drawers, closet. . .
Plus about three half-eaten cookies on the bedside table, a dozen discarded Cheerios, and 25 random Lego’s litter the floor.
It looks normal at first glance. But don’t be fooled.
I have a kinky secret.
Yep. It’s true. . .
I awake to full-on kink every morning. . .
IN MY NECK, BACK, ARM OR LEG!!!
Things are NOT good in our bed!
See, it’s a full-sized bed. A full-sized bed! Chris and I aren’t huge people so a full seemed reasonable when we put it in the room about 12 years ago.
Except I was 12 years younger then. And the mattress was new and firm. But now like me, the mattress is not firm. Like me, It’s OLD. And smooshy.
Additionally, I typically go to bed later than my Husband. So by the time I get to the bedroom, I find myself attempting to broker a small slice of bedroom real estate for myself with a completely sprawled out husband – whom should be gotten awake ONLY if the house is on fire or there are sexual favors involved – and two cats.
On a good night, I find myself placing a portion of my pillow on the bedside table for my head and cantilevering one bent leg partially off the edge of the bed itself.
Every morning I awake to a new pain. My back. My neck. My arm is tingling or numb. My hip feels misaligned and aches. . .
I. AM. NO. LONGER. GOOD. IN. THIS. BED.
We need a new bed. A BIGGER BED! For months I’ve been in denial. But unless WebMD is accurate and I actually have some sort of horrific degenerative nerve condition (plus cancer, plus I’m having a heart attack, and am in need of a hip replacement and an appendectomy), this bed MUST go!
My Husband of course, isn’t as disenchanted with the sleeping arrangements, likely because he’s not sleeping with his head on the nightstand.
Last night, I thought I’d be all stealth and attempt to get myself to the bed first to stake out some prime real estate. But the kid bed-blocked me!
I had grand plans to put Mac to bed and go immediately to our bed. However, Chris suggested he sneak away to the bed first since Mac seems more willing to go in his crib if it’s just me and him. For some reason Mac’s less enthused about going to sleep if Fun-Time Daddy is still around? How convenient for Daddy. . .
I put Mac in his crib. Snuck downstairs to turn on the dishwasher and brush my teeth. And when I returned, I found Chris splayed out in bed reading a book, fat cat at his side, on my pillow!!! (This could also explain the pimple on my cheek now that I think about it).
I attempted to move Fat Fluffs but he hunkered down and gave me a testy glance. “Come on Fluffs!” I whisper at him relocating first his front paws and then his back – scootching him closer to Chris, who immediately starts to protest about his “space.”
I wedge myself onto the small slice of bed I’ve been allotted. I’m on my left side, propped up on my left elbow, attempting to read a magazine, which I’ve also placed on the night stand along with three-quarters of my cat hair covered, (and grossly pre-warmed) pillow.
“Do you have enough room?” Chris asks as I feel him attempt to move his left leg ever further into my territory. I clamp my right leg tightly against the mattress so he can’t wiggle his leg under it.
“Do you?” I ask.
“Not really. Fluffy is taking up a lot of space.”
“Hmmmm. . .” I mumble attempting to read some article about how actors always manage to look great (which let’s face it, is a complete waste of my time).
Chris attempts to shift Fluffs, who has had enough, exits the bed and demands to be let out of the two baby gates we use to secure the second floor at night (one for kid, one for Satan’s Lap Hound).
I hold firm. There’s no way I’m giving up any more territory by leaving Chris alone in the bed to get more comfortable.
Allister’s meowing becomes more persistent. Chris finally caves. He springs from the bed and practically hurls the cat over the two gates and races back to the bed as quickly as he can.
He’s allowed me just enough time to get half my pillow back on the bed and to slide all but my kneecaps back on the edge bed.
It’s not much but it’s better than nothing.
Chris deftly slides himself under the covers tossing one arm and one leg in a sweeping gesture once again into my territory. He attempts to settle in. There’s squirming, and tossing and finally some thrashing about. . .
“I don’t have enough room!” He whines. “Can you move over some?”
“No.” I answer curtly. “I can’t.”
“Come on Baby, please just a little? I’m all squished up over here.”
I do my best to pretend like I’m engrossed in my reading. But I can feel his foot start to twitch, attempting to wedge itself under my leg, invading my territory. I try to hold my ground.
But then Chris pulls a brilliant tactical maneuver: “You want to make more room in the bed? We could get even closer. YOU KNOW?”
Oh I know. I know the answer is OH HELL NO!
I nearly vault myself off the edge of the bed giving him the space he was demanding.
And as I drift off to sleep, head on the nightstand, cat hair plastered to my lips, I lament the time when I was good in bed.