Bed Wars

I have to say that this business of sleeping in the same bed with another person is pretty strange.  I mean, I've been doing it for a long time now, but I still don't really get it.  It's nice to snuggle with someone else, but you can snuggle anywhere.  And occasionally it's nice to get busy with someone else, if you know what I mean, but we all know you don't always need a bed for that.  Unless you are really boring.  And you can certainly get busy in a twin bed or a bed that doesn't belong to you.  Let's face it:  most of the time beds are just for sleeping.  And if what you're mostly doing is sleeping, why share?  It's not like we're cavepeople who have to huddle together for warmth.  

When we started sharing a bed, around a hundred years ago, my husband accused me of angling. Or you could call it diagonal-ing, if that is a word, because throughout the course of the night I would shimmy my legs over to his side of the bed, but my head and torso would stay on my side. I turned myself into a human forward-slash.  I argued that my feet were, naturally, seeking the warmest spot they could find, and that was as close to him as possible.  When he sleeps my husband becomes the man-equivalent of a charcoal briquette.  I haven't tried cooking anything on him yet, but I'm dying to give it a shot.  He'd have made a great caveman.

In addition to angling, over the years we've accused each other of cover-hogging (him), pillow theft (me), attempted smothering (me again) and ankle-kicking (both of us).  All of these antics go on in an enormous California King bed, the biggest money can buy.  Sometimes the sleeping goes smoothly and other nights we could probably use a referee, or maybe a plexi-glass sound and motion barrier dividing our bed down the middle.  At any rate, we've gotten used to these bed wars.  It's just who we are.

After Rex was born I started sleeping in the spare bed in the nursery, because it was easier on everyone, especially me.  For a time I was getting up a jillion times a night to feed Rex in the dark, so sharing a room meant less fumbling (and therefore less cursing) on my part.  And less screaming for the baby, which was good for all of us.  Now, three-plus months into it, I must admit that I've come to love sleeping alone.  The spare bed is cushy and cozy and I've tricked it out with really soft sheets, all the pillows I want and a stack of five assorted comforters to keep me toasty, since I no longer have my caveman.  There is no one to steal my covers or complain that my toenails are too sharp. My little twin bed is totally bitchin, and I never use that phrase. 

Sooner or later I'll have to go back to my own, enormous, shared bed. Lately Rex has become way too grunty for me to get any decent sleep when I'm in the same room with him, even if I wear earplugs and put the pillow over my head.  What's more, now I'm convinced he can smell me sleeping across the nursery and is waking up more than he needs to, both for the pleasure of my company and for a nice slug of warm milk.  Really, who wouldn't?  

One of these days I'll have to say goodbye to my little paradise for good.  As an experiment, last night around 3 am, after feeding Rex, instead of staying in the nursery I went stepped back into the master bedroom. It felt newish, like a hotel; it was cooler than the nursery and smelled like grownups.  It was definitely a place I wanted to be.  And there was my old, familiar side of the bed, with my favorite plumpy pillows and down comforter, just inviting me to climb back in. I couldn't resist, so I went for it.  And it felt fantastic.  It was almost romantic, and for a few magic moments it was just me and the newness of my old bed.  

I rolled over, stretching, to the middle of the bed.  When my hand brushed against something warm I opened my eyes, momentarily disoriented, wondering what it was.  Then I let out a yelp, and almost peed my pants.  There was another person in bed with me!  There in the dark was my husband's head, at my eye level, and it totally freaked me out.  It honestly looked like there was a dummy in my bed.  Or a mannequin.  I suppose in the bliss of reunion with my big-girl bed, I forgot that this was a bed I shared with someone else, or maybe I've gotten too used to sleeping alone.  Either way, I hopped out of bed and hightailed it back to my bitchin little bed in the nursery, which was, thankfully, empty.  

Someday this bitchin little bed will be Rex's big-boy bed, and he will be a caveman-in-training. With all of his grunting, as adorable as it is, he's halfway there already.  And I've decided to very slowly reacquaint myself with my old, shared bed, a few hours at a time.  My husband and I will have to think up some new rules for our bed, but it seems like this is the dawn of a more peaceful era.  I have a hunch we'll be too tired to compete in our bed wars, won't care if the other person pulls off our comforter or kicks us in the balls.  The game has changed, and that's what happens when you have two children.