I love my husband and I love being married and finally getting to not live in sin, if you get my drift. But, I have a major confession to make.
I finally understand why Lucy and Ricky had separate beds. And, I think they might have been on to something.
I hate it when Frank’s gone, but part of me, the part that loves my sleep (thanks to Ambien), sprawling out in the bed like a first class bed hog, and knowing he’s not gone because he’s in the ‘Stan, gets a bit jumpy at the thought of having the bed to myself for a week or two.
I love cuddling. I don’t love sleeping on the edge of the bed because Frank somehow always ends up in the middle. I love waking up to kisses and “Good morning, beautiful.” I don’t love waking up to the grinding of teeth during those dreams. I love safe, warm arms pulling me close in the middle of the night. I don’t love being at the receiving end of flailing arms and legs as he battles the demons of four combat deployments.
Before the wedding, I was extremely sick, the guy who lives with us was out of town and I had cut Frank off (TMI!?) so I started sleeping in our guest room. We only have a full size bed in the guest room, but just sinking into the middle of it and having uninterrupted sleep? Lucy! You got some ‘splainin to do! And on the honeymoon, we had a king size bed and being able to feel like I’m in my own little lots of pillows and fluffy duvet world, while still being just over an arm length away? LUCY, back to reality!
We’re in the process of saving for a king size bed and if little bumps in the road, like excessive electric bills and new tires, would stop getting in the way, I’d feel like a much better wife. You know, one that jumps for joy at the thought of sleeping with her husband.
Wow, bad wife.