A Valentine’s Day Wish: Please Don’t Make Me Sleep With My Husband!
Just calm down. I’m not talking about that. Everything in that department is just *awkward cough* fine. I’m talking about the actual act of sleeping next to my husband. It’s cruel and unusual punishment. It’s a waking nightmare. It is physically and emotionally taking its toll. So, this Valentine’s Day, I don’t need to go out for dinner. Someone else can buy their wife flowers. I will even forfeit the chocolate. (Yes, I just said that.) I’m only asking my husband for one thing this Valentine’s Day: one night of beautiful, uninterrupted, desperately needed, sleep.
Before I got married, I imagined, with great anticipation, what it would be like to sleep next to my soul mate. I would fall asleep in his arms, feeling his heartbeat close to mine, enveloped in his one-of-a-kind scent. Our special place, our marital fortress where the world would be held at bay.
Little did I know that in actuality, I would spend my evenings dodging every limb and body part imaginable, while my husband would sleep (somehow) in peaceful bliss. It doesn’t matter how far I go over to “my side.” He finds me. His hand inevitably lands directly in my face or his knee plants itself into the small of my back. At first, I tried to delicately move him back onto “his side,” but after 7 years of marriage I have now moved into violently shoving, kicking, pushing (or any combination of the three) to get him back where he belongs. (None of it, by the way, deters him. He just finds new and interesting ways to torture me.)
Don’t judge me. This is war.
Remember the old shows from the ’50s that had a husband and wife sleeping in separate, twin beds? They knew what was up. Did you ever see bags under June Cleaver’s eyes? Nope. Those television shows weren’t being prudish, my friends. They were ahead of their time! (Not to mention, I have often felt that the poodle skirt would be much more forgiving to my figure than the oh-so-trendy skinny jeans. These people had it figured out.)
I know there are more of you out there who feel the way I do. By day, we go to work or stay home to raise children with smiles on our faces. But as the darkness comes, so must we face our own darkness, our own great enemy. And then, when the light of dawn finally breaks through, we are expected to kiss our foe as he heads out the door. It’s kind of sick when you think of it.
So, my darling, husband, love of mine… for Valentine’s Day, let’s spend some quality time together. I will put on a cute outfit and we can grab a coffee. We’ll talk a little, flirt a little, and if things go the way I hope, you can grab a hotel room.
Have a wonderful night. I’ll be at home. Sleeping.
Kara Kootstra hates work. As luck would have it, people seem willing to compensate her to write children’s books, teach piano lessons and make gourmet cupcakes. A happily married woman (except for when her husband makes fun of her for reading Twilight), Kara is a mother to Claire, a girl who wears fairy wings to the grocery store and Nate, a five-year-old who is famous for his use of wordplay.