We have a king-sized bed in the guest room. It's secondhand from my friend Beth. I haven't slept on it, but I'm assuming it's comfortable.
It has to be more comfortable than the many nights I spend with my head half falling off a pillow, sandwiched between my husband and child. It's because often, Olivia wakes up and comes into our queen bed. She enters from my side, so I'm squished into the middle.
Look, it's not a bad place to be, literally between the two people in the world I love most. But on a practical level, I do wake up tired with a cricked neck more than I'd like.
Finally, I suggested to Claus we swap our master bed for the guest room king. You would have thought I just proposed we overthrow the government.
"There's nothing wrong with our bed," he said.
"Yeah, it's comfortable already," Olivia echoed.
Then you be in the middle.
"Do you have any idea how long I spent getting that bed set up in the guest room?" he huffed.
"I was there. Ten, 15 minutes?" I recalled.
"Well, yeah. But that's besides the point. Plus, we don't have sheets for it!" he continued.
"What's on the bed now?" I volleyed back.
"Oh. Well, We only have one set of sheets for it!" he pointed out.
Then Olivia, who is only five and doesn't always follow a conversation, complained because she wasn't sure what this meant for the new sleeping arrangements. Would we now be sleeping in the guest room? Would this affect her routine of coming into our bed in the night and morning?
Talk about fear of change.
"Look," I put my foot down. "We are going to test it Friday night to see if it's comfortable. If it is, we are going to swap beds this weekend. The end."
Two frowny faces next to me.
Before the weekend's trial run, I conveyed this conversation to my friend Paul. This is because for eight years he has complained of same.
On the news desk during commercial breaks, to illustrate his story, he used to literally draw me pictures of exactly how much room he had on the bed after his wife, son, and dalmation claimed their space for the night, which came out to about six inches wide, at the edge.
"No!" he admonished. "You can't just say it like that. You have to finesse it to make him think it's his idea. We all know the wives wear the pants, but we like to think we're in charge. Plus, I feel sorry for Claus, living with two females. He can probably see his authority eroding in front of his eyes with each passing year."
But I haven't taken Paul's advice on this one. The bed experiment will go on. And if I'm successful, I might have to be the one advising him on how to reclaim his sleeping space. 'Cuz it's worked so well for him all these years.