And so bedtime finally arrives – you anticipate falling back into your warm cosy bed and drifting off to sleep…but wait, what’s this? You nearly impale yourself on a my little pony, your pillow is covered in something sticky and what is that God awful smell? Like nappies mixed with sweat? On that’s right, you drowsily, remember I’m a parent and my bed is no longer just my bed. It’s partly owned by a power-crazy toddler with a fondness for spilling and a husband whose socks never quite make it to the laundry hamper.
In the dim, distant days of your childless past your bed was your kingdom, a symphony of pleasures, relaxing yet decadent, sloth-like but also sexy. Your bed was just yours, it wasn’t co-owned by a husband or child. You spent money on this bed, you dressed it in the best of linens, the finest of throws, new duvet covers being as essential as a new Saturday night outfit.
Now…well you are lucky if you change the sheets once a week (month), even clean there remains that funny stain on the sheet…you are not sure how it got there but you always place it where it’s least visible. You can’t remember when you last took the time to have a lazy lie-in and this is as much the fault of the dodgy mattress as it is of your toddler.
But…there is one thing I still love about my bed. Early in the morning (sometimes far too early) a certain little lady arrives to snuggle with her parents, read stories and drink her milk. I can ignore the sag in the mattress, the musty smell and the old socks lurking beneath the sheets. So bed I forgive you for turning against me, without you I wouldn’t have some of the most precious moments of the day.