I have spent the night trapped in-between two lovely men.
I am exhausted.
NO! Not like that!
One of them was my husband.
And the other my had-a-nightmare thus need-a-cuddle son.
I lay there. All night. Sandwiched in the middle.
Because I really, really, really, really needed to pee.
But couldn’t work out a way to remove the filling from the sandwich without waking up one of the slices.
I did attempt a slithering-in-a-snake-like-fashion-out-of-the-bottom-of-the-quilt manoeuvre. But any slight movement apparently initiated the exact same movement from my seemingly sleeping son.
If, say, you’d been a fly on the ceiling, I’m sure you could have mistaken us for synchronized bed-movers/shakers.
And any slight brush against my light sleeping husband and he’s awake in an instant. I know that from experience. I’ve even managed to wake him from my dreams at times. The slightest waving… OK slapping arm and he’s sitting bolt upright in bed snorting, “What?!?”
So I lay still and contemplated the effects on my kidneys.
And admired the power of my bladder after having had four children.
There’s something to be said for four Caesareans.
Though trampolining is still out of the question…
Finally the youngest of us awoke. Refreshed.
And I have visited the Water Closet.
What really needs to happen now, is that I go back to bed and am intoxicated by that lovely thing called sleep on this beautiful (but cold?!?) October Sunday morning.
Good Morning! Goodnight!