Dear Bed,
It’s been a long time since we’ve been alone together.
83 months, 24 days, and 8 hours exactly … but who’s counting, right? [nervous laughter]
My mother claims that there was a time in my life when I used to hate you. Apparently I never napped, which is ironic in the most painful of ways, since karma is not kind. I used to run away from you, rolling under coffee tables for my nightly beauty sleep, where I would be retrieved in the morning. How could I have done that to you? I don’t blame you for turning from me, I guess.
Maybe it all comes down to that first unfortunate meeting between us, maybe that’s why things have gone so awry. For that, I apologize. But can’t we let bygones be bygones and find a way to come together again?
Because really, Bed, I miss you.
I know that I used to take you for granted. I know that I used to just expect you to be there, night after night, without giving you any thanks or appreciation. And for that, I am ashamed. I had hoped you wouldn’t hold my mistakes against me, because really, I didn’t know any better.
Maybe you’re laughing a little at me, Bed, chuckling at the revenge you are now enacting against me for all of those times I just jumped on top of you or left you naked for the day, defenseless against the dust mites and creepy spiders lurking in the corners.
But I know that you are feeling the pangs of our separation, too.
I know that you, too, are sore from the restless limbs of the children that have come between us. I know that you, too, shield your eyes against the breaking of the morning that comes too early, wondering why, yet again, our time together has been cut short. I know that you too, find yourself dreaming about stealing snatches of bliss together.
They tell me that every relationship goes through ups and downs (my apologies for the painfully obvious pun there) and I guess we’ve been together long enough for me to see the truth in that. Because even though we’re going through a rough patch right now, I haven’t given up hope that we will find our way back to each other again.
I know that we need more time together to make our relationship work, but the reality is, that’s just not possible right now. Flu season, for one, has been brutal this year. And who can blame the sick baby for preferring you? You’re just the right amount of broken in, soft and strong, comfortable and soothing — perhaps it’s those traits that we have in common that explain why we get along so well, despite our lack of time together.
I’ll tell you one thing, Bed — I will never take you for granted again.
I never treated you right before, but I can assure you that I am a changed woman. Those appalling sheets I dressed you in during college? Horrific. The months I neglected you, scrolling quickly past any article that recommended changing your sheets weekly? Borderline neglect.
I know that you deserve the best now, really I do. If I could, I would adorn you in the softest, silkiest attire that money could buy (hoping that you realize it’s the thought that counts, because I may be a little short in the financial department).
I promise, from now on, to always give you the respect and love that you are due.
This is my solemn vow to you, dear Bed:
Some day we will meet again. Some day, I will caress you gently, dress you in all white, and fluff your pillows just the way you like it. Some day, we will spend rainy afternoons, uninterrupted nights, and even sunny mornings together. Some day, we will never be apart.
And until that day, Bed, you will have to take my word that I miss you and that I am, in fact, admiring the way you look from my post in the rocking chair where I often spend my nights with a teething, crying baby.
You’ve still got it, Bed.
And I hope to get with what you have again someday. So until then, I will remain, gratefully and exhaustedly, yours.
Sleepless in Suburbia,
One Very Tired Mother
