Skip to main content

A bed of one's own

I heard an interesting statistic on the radio this morning: 23% of all married couples sleep in separate beds. And most of these folks say it has improved their relationship. Hmm.


We've all heard (or lived) the tales of spouses who snore so loud that the other can't get a wink. Or one spouse pulls the covers off the other, leaving shmoopy to freeze his or her tushie off all night. Then there are the toss-and-turners, the spread-outers, or the get-up-to-pee-5-timers. For whatever reason, at least 23% of couples have admitted to living a la Lucy and Desi -- don't you wonder how many others have not admitted it?


I can imagine that yes, sleeping separately could improve your relationship. I mean, when you don't sleep for days on end, you get bitchy, irritable, angry, irrational. I get mean when Big Daddy snores loud enough to wake me up -- I have been known to throw elbows and knees to get him to roll over -- and I punish him with snarky comments for days afterward if I am even the tiniest bit sleepy. (It's been tough in my house this week because of our head colds, which means I'm waking up Big Daddy when blowing my nose every 10 minutes, and he's waking me up with the snoring...I'll be in the guest bed tonight myself!) So I can imagine that if a couple has suffered through one or the other's sleeping issues for long enough, they will really start to dislike each other. Lack of sleep truly could destroy a marriage.


So then I started wondering, who's idea was it, really, that man and wife should share a bed? I mean, sure there are the obvious practical reasons why this is a good (and sometimes fun) idea. But realistically, don't we all want our own space? Can you recall the days when you would sprall all over the bed without worrying about clocking your sweety with an elbow? And wouldn't it be nice to get dressed in the morning without your significant other getting dressed right beside you?

I'll ponder this some more as I tuck into my own little corner of my giant bed tonight -- with husband spread out to my left and cats on my feet, leaving enough room in the center for the boy to sneak in around 3 a.m.

Comments

  1. This comment has been removed by the author.

    ReplyDelete
  2. The problem in my house is that our bed is sooooo comfortable (it's like sleeping on cake, for real!), no matter how bad the snoring/tossing/nose-blowing gets, neither of us is willing to go to the guest room. So at least if we're awake, we're comfy.

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Grace happens

Today Honey's roommate in room 364 at Maine Medical Center was discharged. Some other day I'll tell you about why Honey is in the hospital again, but this story is about the roommate because it's way more interesting. Let's call him Elton, because all I really know about him is he plays guitar in an Elton John tribute band and he's originally from the very northern part of England, bordering Scotland. (Or as Honey described it, "that place in England where the Roman Empire decided, nope, those Celts are crazy, and put up a wall.")

Elton was in room 364 before Honey arrived, and what struck me immediately, besides his delightful accent and soothing Liam-Neeson-esque voice, was his gentle, good-natured manner. He was going through heck from a botched surgery and compartment syndrome - pain and gore and fear of losing the use of his dominant hand - yet he spoke kindly and softly to every person who came into his room. Every time a nurse walked in, Elton gree…

Math lessons

I was really great at school as a kid...but I'm really lousy at school as a parent. And I was reminded once again of this while sitting at my son's conference yesterday.

Seventh grade has been hard on all of us. Beyond the obvious physical changes -- Happy has grown at least 5" since this summer and now looks me in the eye (yeah, remember I'm super tall!), his voice is weird, he can't get out of his own way -- we're all trying to navigate his ever-changing need for independence. His teachers want him to take more responsibility for his learning, which in theory sounds like a great plan for all kids at this age; they have to not only learn how to learn but also learn how to advocate for their learning.

In reality, though, when you're the world's most laid-back 12-almost-13-year-old who really only wants to listen to music, play drums, video games, and action figures, taking responsibility and advocating for your learning is not highest priority. In fact…

Happy curls?

I dreaded the passing of the peace each Sunday when I was a little girl. Every week the old church ladies would comment about my hair...
    "Shirley Temple curls!" they cooed; I didn't know who Shirley Temple was.
    "So soft!" they petted; I didn't want their wrinkly, gnarled fingers on my head.
    "I pay a lot of money to have hair like yours!" they exclaimed; I couldn't figure out why anyone would pay money for frizzy, fluffy, brillo-pad hair.

I hated my curls. I felt embarrassed by my hair -- it was short, kinky, cut badly -- quite different from the long straight hair my friends all wore at the time in my life when I just wanted to fit in. Oh, how I wanted a ponytail! Or a braid...to braid my hair on a Sunday morning with ribbons hanging down, that was a dream.

Today during the passing of the peace, I found myself next to one of the older ladies in our church. Every week I marvel at her elegance, the way the dresses, the slow and grace…