I think that's how my husband has been viewing me lately--the enemy of his sleep. I'm not getting up in the night to go to the bathroom. I'm getting up to down a bottle of Tums. And I'm also tossing and turning so much because Pat has turned my uterus into a bowling alley or something equally raucous and I can't find that sweet spot. You know the spot where your body is angled in just the perfect way in the perfect place on the mattress and you can't help but fall fast asleep because everything is so perfect?
So, because of that, we're sleeping on 2 different levels of the house. He's in the marital bed (how old fashioned does that sound?) and I'm in the basement, like a dog. Actually, I'm in the more comfortable bed in the bedroom that doesn't have any windows. We call it the cave. And I do sleep a lot better, as does he. He for obvious reasons. Me because I don't feel guilty over keeping him awake AND because I'm now eating a bowl of Tums before bed (except I forgot to last night). It's working out really well.
Now we just need to work out a conjugal visit schedule. (did I really just type that and not delete it?)
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