I love my husband dearly. Particularly at the moment as he seems to be competing for some sort of Husband of the Month award. I’m getting to stay in bed at weekends, babysitting, dinner making, floor mopping and even bathroom cleaning offers (the latter I always refuse as inevitably I always have to go in after him and, well, do the job properly....)
So Husband N, my partner of ten years and spouse for two is currently enjoying hero status. So why then, when he was away overnight recently, was it so delightful not to have him beside me in bed? Because it was the first time in recent memory I awoke the next morning well-rested...
It’s not that I’m being harangued by him for a bonk – (what is sex again anyway?...) – it’s just that our marital bed simply cannot accommodate him, me and a 35 week bump. Add to that equation towers of pillows to support the bumpage and climbing into bed at night is more a fight for space than a calming haven for sleep.
Usually I’m an octopus when I sleep, arms and legs akimbo. But between the pelvis problems, the bladder and the bump, mobility is restricted so I can’t stake claim to bedsheets like I once could. Inevitably that means I’m left shivering, bump exposed in ill-fitting pre-pregnancy pyjamas as Husband N, blissfully unaware, enjoys the cocooning warmth afforded by my share of sheets.
And did I mention the snoring? I’ve been wearing ear plugs since we first began dating all those years ago. I’m such an expert on ear plug matters, I should have my own show. Husband N is a quiet man not comfortable attracting attention to himself. It seems impossible he could be capable of creating the primeval noises he does once he’s asleep.
On a bad night, the earplugs don’t even come close to buffering the snores. And once I’m awake, there’s always that familiar knock-knock in Bladder Land. So far my record this trimester has been eight trips to the bathroom in one night.
We’re lucky to have a spare bedroom and though the heating doesn’t work in it and the conditions in there verge on Antarctic at this time of year, chiselling ice off the bed is a far more inviting prospect than having to share my own bed with a Guinness Book of Records calibre snorer and prolific sheet stealer.
But darn me, I feel bad about sneaking away from him in the middle of the night. I hate waking in the morning without kisses, what we can manage of a cuddle and a quick dream interpretation/ analysis. He also feels so haunted by his snores cheating his heavily pregnant wife of her own bed, that is seems to blacken his whole day. ‘Wake me up’, he wills me, ‘I’ll sleep in the other bed.’ But though his snoring is so maddening, I do contemplate smothering him at times, I somehow don’t have the heart to wake him when he’s so obviously engaged in sleep.
So, hooray for overnight business trips! Husband N assures me he doesn’t need to go, that there’s nothing more important than being here for me at this stage in the pregnancy – all genuine tug-on-your-heart-strings, Nobel Peace Prize winning stuff. He must wonder why I’m so enthusiastic about his going away and constantly asking when he plans to do an overnighter again.
As for that mysterious Husband of the Month Award – it’s a no-brainer. I don’t need Valentines flowers, babysitting or microwaveable dinners. Just my bed to myself for the next five weeks...