The Edge (of the Bed)

Jen’s Side (of the bed-story):

I suppose because I grew up an only child I enjoyed the luxuries of that status (ie my own room, my own stuff, etc) and never had to worry about having to share anything with anybody. I wouldn’t necessarily call that being spoiled, just, I don’t know, not too concerned. In the case of having my own room, and therefore my own bed, I naturally took up space as I so pleased. Sprawled out, all over the place, hoggin’ the middle. Always.

And then along came Hubby and the whole share-and-share alike thing. Living as the (better) half of somebody sure came with its price tag; and that meant giving up my precious ‘middle’ of the bed so that we could both enjoy each other’s company. Sure, I was a little hesitant at first, and yes, I still have fantasies of one day purchasing a California King-sized mattress set just so I can go back to enjoying a somewhat ‘middle’ ground. But for the most part? I have no qualms, really. We’ve split the bed fifty-fifty and I see no reason why he’s always bitchin’ and asking me, “Do you realize how much real estate you’ve got on the other side of you?!”

Puh-lease! I’ve given up a half of the bed already! What more does he want??

John’s Side (of the bed-story)

Geez, Jen! Are you seriously using that card again – that “I’m an only child” card? That’s your signature ‘go-to’ move! Enough already! For the record let me set things straight just so those who are kind enough to be reading this know: I am also an only child. And I have had no problem whatsoever with sharing my bed with you. None. Zilch. Zero. Nada!

Here’s the thing, folks. We have a queen-sized bed, and as big as it is it’s just not big enough for the both of us because of our individual sleeping habits. Jen and I are both what you would call all-over-the-place sleepers, though she more than I. So, investing in a king is the only sensible thing to do. But that’s for later. It’s not really that high on our priority list right now.

While I accept that I can wake up at any moment in the night and expect to find her legs dangling all over me (because she tends to end up horizontal), or to have, maybe, a corner of one of the three blankets she insists on layering us under, I can completely overlook those types of things. I love her and accept all of her weird, fucked-up sleeping positions. She’s my wife – for better, for worse, right?

The problem lies in the fact that she insists on dragging her body pillow into the bed with her. You’ve seen this thing, right? It’s about as long as an average person and is roughly two-feet across. It’s like one of those maternity pillows the gals use as both a belly supporter that wraps around their back and up between the legs for comfort. It was cool when she was preggos both times, but now she absolutely cannot fall asleep without hugging on that thing or having it up against her back for one reason or another. She says it helps to keep the draft from coming up under the covers, but I’m just not buying it. I think the ‘only child’ in her resents having to share the space she’s enjoyed all her life so she’s devised this need for having, basically what’s like a third person, in bed with us so she can have just that much more space to claim. Now, if that damned pillow were in fact another person (say, another woman, for example) she’d never hear a peep outta me. But that’s another post, eh?

Anyway, this pillow, it takes up about two feet of her side of the bed meaning she’s pushed into (essenatially) the middle of the bed, leaving me with the scraps of the last third of the mattress (and that’s only if I lie on my side and keep really, really still to keep from falling off).

Back to Jen:

Okay, so let’s just give my pillow a sexy name and get over it!!

John:

Ooooh, really!!?! Now you’re talkin’, Honey!