I just realized that today marks three months of happy marriage, and I've decided that the occasion merits a post on married life.
Before I got married, no one warned me that it would be so hard to adjust to sharing my queen-sized bed with my new husband. I entered into marital bliss blissfully unaware of the sleeping trials that awaited me. Have I mentioned that FavoriteBoy is 6'3" and thin as a rail - all gangly arms and legs and poky elbows and knees?
During the first two months of marriage, I sustained numerous injuries that might almost qualify me as a battered wife, were it not for the innocent lack of criminal intent to be found in my sleeping husband. One night, a raised elbow in his sleep connected with the soft tissue of my ear, leaving it bruised and sore for days. Another night, a knee curled up towards his chest slammed into my spinal column. A third night, it was my eye that fell victim to one of his bony limbs. These are just a few examples of the more painful incidents that occurred; I won't go into detail concerning the painless but distressing things like taking all the covers and sheets or rolling entirely onto my side of the bed and nearly pushing me out of the bed onto the floor.
My dreams were all ones of violence for several weeks. One night I was fighting in the Revolutionary War, hiding in a foxhole with my brothers and taking cover from the Brits who were coming to stab us with bayonets. The foxhole dissipated and my brothers and I were hiding under a bed. The bed dissipated as the dream faded, and I awoke to find myself on the floor, FavoriteBoy sleeping peacefully on my side of the bed - from which he had just ousted me. Another night I was in a concentration camp.
FavoriteBoy was, of course, as happy as a clam through all of this. He slept on, unaware of the pokes and jabs he was so frequently inflicting on his poor wife. I had been accustomed to having my own queen bed since September, while he had married his way out of a twin-sized dorm bed and into my lovely queen bed! Naturally, he had nothing to complain about.
But as for me, needless to say, I couldn't get any restful sleep for weeks. Most nights I'd get up around 3 or 4 am, grab a blanket, and make my way to the couch to finish out the remainder of the night.
Well, dear readers, I am happy to announce that somehow between late February and the middle of March we have gradually acclimated to one another. There is room for both of us after all, and it is no longer just FavoriteBoy who sleeps uninterrupted through the night.