Sleep has long been a major issue my marriage and my adult life.
I’m a very light sleeper – an alert from a phone in the basement will wake me up in my second-floor bedroom. Conflict: The Husband was a loud snorer, sleep-talker, and restless leg syndrome sufferer for years and years. A CPAP mask took care of much of that issue, except for the weird noises the machine itself creates – which wake me repeatedly.
I’m an “early to bed, early to rise” kind of person. Ready for lights out by 10:00, usually. Conflict: The Husband is a night owl, though he tries hard to maintain a workable schedule.
I like to “sleep cold” with the thermostat turned WAY down at night, under a cocoon made of layers of quilts and comforters. Conflict: The Husband complains that he’s freezing, especially in the early morning before the ambient temperature goes back to normal.
So when my better half headed off last week for his out-of-town training, I couldn’t help but do a little happy dance over having the bed and the nights to myself for three whole weeks. Blessed, peaceful, comfortable sleep!
Not so much. I had a couple of perfect nights. Then a virus hit and I tossed and turned all but two hours, two nights in a row. Next we found out The Husband had a broken rib, had to come home and interrupt training, future uncertain – meaning a completely sleepless night for me as I worried.
He finally made it home, obviously in tremendous pain. Because our bed is only a double-size (small house, small bedroom, small bed) I was afraid any movement I made would hurt him. So I’ve been on the basement couch all week. Fairly comfortable, really. And quiet, at least. But the change of paradigm is completely freaking me out. Not my room. Not my lovely, pillow-top mattress. Not my cozy down comforters. Not my stuff nearby. Too weird.
Adding insult to injury (literally, in this case) is the fact that The Husband slept in a pain med/muscle relaxer-induced coma for almost 72 hours straight. Okay, he got up for a couple of hours a couple of different times just to pee and ingest food and drink, but he was in my beloved bed all that time. 72 hours when my bed wasn’t made (an abomination before the Lord).
And I say, as Baby Bear said of Goldilocks, “Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed.” As I recall, though, the end of that story was that Goldilocks dashed out the window, never to be seen again. I don’t expect that will happen in my case. To be honest, I don’t want it to happen. But what I wouldn’t give to be Sleeping Beauty just for a few nights…