Thursday, February 12, 2009

In Praise of My Bed

We have an awesome bed. We really do. It's king-size, so we have lots of room. It's a pillow-top, nice and soft and cozy, but still supportive and firm. We got a really good deal on it when we bought it 10 years ago. We bought the floor model, and were able to get this really awesome bed for the same price of the "just ok" beds we were looking at.

And the sheets... we have incredibly soft, 400-count, Egyptian cotton sheets. They started out soft, when I bought them 7 years ago (because 400-count sheets are not in a one-income budget, we haven't gotten new sheets since BigBro's birth). But years of washing has brought out a softness that can only come with time. Sliding in between these sheets is a deep embrace.

DH and I have exactly the right pillows, too. We both have body pillows. I got one during my pregnancy with BigBro, and quickly found that there was no other way to sleep. DH "borrowed" mine one night when I was out of town and loved it so much that he got his own.

Why am I waxing poetic about a bed this morning? Because I am missing my bed. LilBro has been sick for the past two weeks, just colds and mild infections, but he's been coming into our room every night between 2-3am and dragging me to his twin bed, where we cram ourselves in among his special blankie and menagerie of stuffed friends. Half of my body ends up hanging off the edge of the bed. There is no room for my body pillow, so I wake with stiffness in my lower back. His pillow is too thin, and my neck stiffens as we sleep. His character-printed sheets are only 180 count. And, of course, my companion flips and flops, kicks and twists (so unlike DH's gentle squeezes!)

This morning, I woke at 5:27, stiff, sore and tired. I surreptitiously slipped out of LilBro's bed and tip-toed down the hall. Silently, I opened the door to our room and slid between the 400-count Egyptian cotton. My entire body relaxed as I curled around my body pillow. DH reached for my hand, giving me a gentle squeeze. I drifted into a lovely dream just as the alarm began it's grating beep beep beep.

Oh well. Maybe tonight will be my night. One can always hope!

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