In a recent comment on my friend's blog, I made reference to a particularly embarrassing experience I had not long after Phil and I were married. After much thought and consideration, I decided to post it. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I couldn't think of anything else to blog about. (ahem)
Our first apartment was quite small. We had a kitchen/living room area, a tiny bedroom, and an even smaller bathroom. There was enough room for our queen-size bed, but only just. We positioned the bed about 8 inches from the wall on my side so there was enough room (barely) to squeeze in to make the bed. There wasn't much space to move around in, but the arrangement worked.
Now, we all know that every married couple goes through a period of adjustment when it comes to sleep. After however many years of sleeping single in your own bed, you suddenly have to learn to sleep with another person. The first few weeks after the wedding are adventurous--even fun, I might say. But then reality hits. Ours hit during finals week.
After a grueling evening of studying for our finals, Phil and I headed for dreamland. I slept great that night. I assumed he had too. But he informed me the next morning that I was crowding him all night long, and he couldn't sleep. I felt horrible. (So much concern for one another when you are newlyweds....) I determined that I would make sure he slept really well the following night.
A long day of tests, work, and more studying left both of us tired. We headed off to bed and were soon asleep. My subconscious mind remembered my determination to not crowd Phil during the night. This meant that each time I would surface to consciousness, I would roll away from Phil. It worked well, until I rolled too far.
Remember how my side of the bed was 8 inches away from the wall? You can guess what happened. Not only did I roll off the bed, I was so twisted up in the sheets that only one foot was touching the floor. I was completely wedged and mummified.
Phil woke up to the WHUMP of me falling off the bed, but when he looked over to see what happened, I was gone. At that point, he turned on the lamp and saw one of my arms sticking up helplessly. Then he heard my pitiful cry of "Help me!" (Remember the part in "The Emperor's New Groove" when Kuzco sees the bug trapped in a spiderweb? That's how I sounded. "Help me! Heeeelp meeeeeeee!" But without the spider.)
With much effort on his part, Phil was able to pull me out of my predicament. He didn't even laugh at me. (Bless you, sweetie.) I explained what happened and why I was trying to move away from him as I slept. He felt so bad about it that he told me I could sleep as close to him as I wanted, just so I wouldn't fall off the bed again.
It didn't take long, however, for the cry "Help me!" with an accompanying feeble arm wave to become the family joke. Thanks, Phil.
Our first apartment was quite small. We had a kitchen/living room area, a tiny bedroom, and an even smaller bathroom. There was enough room for our queen-size bed, but only just. We positioned the bed about 8 inches from the wall on my side so there was enough room (barely) to squeeze in to make the bed. There wasn't much space to move around in, but the arrangement worked.
Now, we all know that every married couple goes through a period of adjustment when it comes to sleep. After however many years of sleeping single in your own bed, you suddenly have to learn to sleep with another person. The first few weeks after the wedding are adventurous--even fun, I might say. But then reality hits. Ours hit during finals week.
After a grueling evening of studying for our finals, Phil and I headed for dreamland. I slept great that night. I assumed he had too. But he informed me the next morning that I was crowding him all night long, and he couldn't sleep. I felt horrible. (So much concern for one another when you are newlyweds....) I determined that I would make sure he slept really well the following night.
A long day of tests, work, and more studying left both of us tired. We headed off to bed and were soon asleep. My subconscious mind remembered my determination to not crowd Phil during the night. This meant that each time I would surface to consciousness, I would roll away from Phil. It worked well, until I rolled too far.
Remember how my side of the bed was 8 inches away from the wall? You can guess what happened. Not only did I roll off the bed, I was so twisted up in the sheets that only one foot was touching the floor. I was completely wedged and mummified.
Phil woke up to the WHUMP of me falling off the bed, but when he looked over to see what happened, I was gone. At that point, he turned on the lamp and saw one of my arms sticking up helplessly. Then he heard my pitiful cry of "Help me!" (Remember the part in "The Emperor's New Groove" when Kuzco sees the bug trapped in a spiderweb? That's how I sounded. "Help me! Heeeelp meeeeeeee!" But without the spider.)
With much effort on his part, Phil was able to pull me out of my predicament. He didn't even laugh at me. (Bless you, sweetie.) I explained what happened and why I was trying to move away from him as I slept. He felt so bad about it that he told me I could sleep as close to him as I wanted, just so I wouldn't fall off the bed again.
It didn't take long, however, for the cry "Help me!" with an accompanying feeble arm wave to become the family joke. Thanks, Phil.
