Sometimes sharing is better

Sleep tight and don't let the bed bugs bite

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For the first 22 years of my life, I slept alone.

I could stretch myself out, end-to-end, of the queen size bed I received when I was fourteen.

There were no obstacles in my way, except for the occasion stuffed animal, or visiting cousin.

blankets were all mine to hoard; the room temperature mine to control.

And, then I was married.

I remember, that first night in the hotel room, when my brand-new husband fell asleep before I did, thinking about how strange it felt to be sharing a bed with someone – a bed I will now share forever.  I wondered if he would steal my blankets; if he would turn the light off before falling asleep; if we’d sleep cuddled or each on our sides.

I remember wondering, how long till it seemed normal, to be sharing my bed every night – after 8,030 solitary nights.

I remember wondering, if I’d cherish the moments when the bed was all mine, for a single night – where I could sleep on any side of the bed I chose – or spread across all of it.

And, then my husband went away for the first time – for a bachelor party for two nights just a couple of months after we were married.

I jumped into bed – ready to spread myself out – to enjoy the freedom of not sharing a bed – and I was overwhelmed by the emptiness of it. 

What I once cherished – now I despised.  I missed my husband being inches away from me.  I missed his warmth, the sounds of his breathing… I missed sharing my bed, even just for a night or two.

For the first 22 years of my life, I slept alone.

For the last 3 ½ years I’ve shared a bed.

I think I prefer sharing.

The

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