The politics of sleep

Every night in my house brings with it a new debate about sleeping arrangements. Are you in here or in there? Are you sleeping in, or getting up at 5am? Are the cats in or out? Do you want the cats in or out? TV or no TV? Can I read or must it be completely dark like the Bat Cave? Every night…just like this.

In reality, I could sleep alone 6 nights out of the week and be a perfectly happy camper. Lest you think this says something about my relationship with my husband – think again. The 7th night of the week he can come back, so long as he gets up early and I get to sleep in. It’s the only way it works, you see. Plus when he rolls over and kicks like Pele in the middle of the night, it’s really better that he kicks covers or air, as opposed to kicking my appendages, which have a tendency to kick back.

And then, of course, there’s the snoring. Of both parties. My snoring is of a gutteral back-of-the-throat variety, while he’s got full-on nasal freight trainage. Add in Charlie’s snoring, which is akin to a cat whimper combined with a sinus infection, and you’ve got a true symphony of horrible noise – bound to disturb the slumber of even the heaviest sleeper.

So last night, in typical Sunday night fashion, the debate began again. It was decided, by whom I don’t know, that I’d get the big bed, he’d get the small bed and Lucy would get 7/8 of the queen bed all to herself. So I woke up in the middle of the night with my leg hanging off the side, holding on to the pillow for dear life, and she’s stretched out length wise across the width of the bed. With her paw over her eyes as if to say, “Don’t bother me, dahling, it’s awfully bright in here, and fah too loud.”

I’m over it. I have no idea how to rectify this bizarre situation, but I’m fairly certain that unless we figure out something, I will never sleep again. And I have to get my sleep in now, or else when the dreaded children come along, I won’t have any sleep reserves to rely on. I left the cats napping on my bed when I left the house this morning. Charlie was curled up in a ball against my pillow, and Lucy was at the end of the bed tucked under the comforter. I turned off the lights…they stretched…they yawned…they went back to sleep…and I gave them the middle finger they so deserved.