From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I felt that our bed situation needed some serious reconsideration. It was my theory that I deserved about 2/3 of the bed, because I was now two in one. John pointed out that the baby was quite small at the time, no larger than a grain of rice, actually, so my calculations might need to be reworked. But, I said, “I’m sleeping for two!”

Well, the bed situation hasn’t improved too much, especially because of something I mentioned in my last post–each time I get up during the night, my dear hubby rolls to the center of the bed and falls into a deep sleep. When I return, it takes some serious coaxing to get him back to his proper location.

When we were in Michigan this summer, I managed to get poison Ivy. That first night after my diagnosis I woke in the middle of the night thinking, “Wow, I’m having my best night sleep in ages, poison ivy and all!” I looked over at John and in the moonlight I could see that he was clutching the edge of the bed, trying to stay as far away as possible. Even after I discovered that poison ivy rarely spreads from person to person, I liked to admonish him each night with, “Poison ivy is a HIGHLY contagious disease.”

After the rash cleared up, I lost my best weapon. A few weeks ago, I came back to bed and found John in the dead center of the bed. Only this time, as a special bonus, not only was he sleeping in that forbidden region, but he was also talking in his sleep. I couldn’t manage to wake him to get him to move over. I kept insisting, he kept hedging. He complained about the cold, I complained about the heat. I asked him, no begged him, to move over. And then he said, “Aw just put it in the archives as argument #5764398.”