I cringe when I remember our first marriage bed. A burgundy, velour-covered waterbed that hubby adored as a bachelor. Which was ok until I began to swell with first child. Then I resembled one of those sad, beached whales on the seashore.
Unable to move without help.
He LOVES waterbeds. I just wanted something I wouldn't drown in.
For four children, I endured. (Hopeless beds for breastfeeding said babes too I might add....But I digress)
Hubby loved it. It held him. It warmed him. It comforted him.
Me? Meh. It trapped me. Sweated me. Frustrated me.
He felt the cold. I felt the heat. The waterbed temp was great for him. For me? Not so much.
Somewhere along the way for a reason I don't remember, the waterbed was replaced. Reaching back into the far recesses of my mind - I would say it was a case of replace the (leaking?) waterbed bladder or replace the whole bed. Hubby would say I got rid of it 'cause I hated it. But his memory is not as good as mine ☺
For 12 years now we have had our queen sized Rimu (native NZ wood) slat bed.
It was custom made and supposed to arrive in time for me to swell with my forth child in comfort - at least when trying to sleep. It didn't.
It arrived weeks after he was born - along with a bottle of perfume from the carpenter, in the hopes of mollifying me. It didn't.
It has shared our good times. It remembers our triumphs. Our ups. Our closeness. It has been a place of sweet slumber.
It has shared our bad times. It remembers the arguments I wish had never taken place. Our down times. Our chasms. It has been a place of hard nights.
I wake, eyes closed still and I know hubby is there beside me. Just like he has been for the last 17 years. I smell his faint familiar scent.
I smile, eyes open now, knowing he is there always eager to receive me, as he was when more new limbs were created, then nourished.
I fluff up pillows, fold up the multitude of extra blankets on his side, pile up the un-neccessary, but lovely, husband-annoying cushions, every morning.
He still feels the cold. I still feel the heat.
He likes practical weight. I like romantic pretty.
I come back to it some mornings to homeschool, cuddled up in warm blankets and comfort, on cold or sick days.
I come back to it some afternoons to spend my quiet times with God, with my blog and with chocolate.
I come back to it to pray, to cry, to read, to knit, to nap.
To-do lists, book lists, grocery lists, dream lists - they all happen here too, in early morning or darkest of night.
It's here our little and not-so-little people sneak in, to co-sleep. Boo boos are kissed better here, deep and meaningfuls with teens happen here. And it is here, where the best tickle fights happen.
It is where we watch, just outside our window, the sun touch green, the teens out feeding stock early morning, young ones swinging with glee on the rope swing on sunny afternoons..
It is where I plan to spend a great many more days, learning, loving, sleeping...
*Writing prompt from Amber