I made it five minutes attempting to sleep in the same bed as my husband last night. Five minutes, before the “loud breathing” (that he insists is not snoring, because he “would know” if he snored) drove me to the couch downstairs. The couch because my visiting mother was in the guest bed.
Five minutes before I chose the cold leather of the recliner couch that I hate, over the hard but lumpy and unsupportive mattress (that I also hate) that I’m supposed to share with my husband. I can’t remember the last time we stayed in the same room.
Laura is getting super confused. Where is Mommy sleeping today? It’s like a really bad version of I Love Lucy, but instead of a cute nightstand separating me from my husband, we have walls.
I woke up this morning barely able to move. My hips were so achy from trying to stay on the couch without rolling onto the floor all night. My ego hurt even more. Why is it so hard for me to sleep in the same room as Nate? Why can’t I just get over the “loud breathing” long enough to fall asleep? Why do I feel like such a terrible wife?
It all leads back to the “I Wants” that I struggle with so much. I want a new mattress, one that doesn’t force me to roll right into the middle of the bed. I want a fresh coat of paint in our room, one that isn’t dreary and depressing. I want a new bedframe, one that doesn’t creak and groan with every breath. I want… I want… I want…
I think I’m actually looking forward to the sleep deprivation that will come with Gavin’s birth. At least I’ll have a few weeks where I know, without a shadow of a doubt, I’ll be able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat.