The Bed That Ate the World

Our first big purchase, and I mean BIG purchase as a married couple was our new KING-size bed. It was clearly evident from the start that Tanner's bed from college was not going to be good for our marriage. As I described earlier, Tanner can cause quite a commotion at night, striking all kinds of poses at my expense. Not only was the double bed too small to provide me a buffer, it sagged in the middle, forcing me to roll towards center, funneling me directly into the line of fire.

In reality, Tanner's crazy episodes are more infrequent occurrences than regular happenings, but space was still a priority for me when it came time to consider a new bed. Despite being abnormally affectionate and wanting constant physical contact for the 17 hours I'm awake (if Tanner would carry me in a BabyBjorn, I'd be totally happy), at night, I really don't like to be touched while I'm actually sleeping... at all. Cuddling while slumbering, no thanks. A cold toe brushing my leg, please no. A good bed-time snuggle while watching TV or chatting pre-sleep is cozy and lovely, but when it's time for REM, it's time for personal space. It sounds harsh, bitter, cold-hearted, I know -- but please believe me, I make up for it with uber-cuddling and mega-hugs and kisses at all other times.

SO, after much discussion and debate and back-and-forth about whether to buy a queen or a king, we settled on a king. One of our main priorities was finding one that would alleviate some of the back pain Tanner has each morning. After looking first at memory-foam mattresses, and then realizing a king would cost the same as a small yacht, we picked a Simmons, with individually-wrapped coils and a 4-inch layer of memory foam on top.
When the delivery men brought that sucker home and plopped it in our bedroom, Tanner and I pulled out the drafting paper and pencils and began designing an elaborate layout of catwalks and bridges to navigate through the room since it had been SWALLOWED by the blob bed.

Spanning the great divide.

I jest. We have a large master bed room, so the thing fit in there, but it is gigantic. I've appreciated the extra sleeping space and have been getting some nights of heavy, uninterrupted slumber. But, strangely enough, the bed has actually made me a bit more of an affectionate sleeper. With all this acreage to sleep in, I'm so spatially distant from my hubby -- I look to my side, over the fence, and a mile down the road, and there he is sleeping on the other side. At times, it's made me feel a little lonely and isolated, and I've actually found myself creeping through the neutral country, into the hostile territory, just to check in and see what's up. But... just like a traveler, I find myself thinking, "This place is nice to visit, but there's no place (and no sleep) like home." It's back to my side, and my antisocial, wonderful sleep.