July 2012 – I wrote this post last year. It was never intended to be a review on Sleep Number Beds. Now, WP stats say it is unequivocally the most searched topic that I’ve ever written ~ by 200%. This makes me want to re-write it in fuller detail, but I won’t now. Except to add this to the commentary – Sleep Number beds are very hot. The plastic traps your body heat and there is little air flow underneath, as there would be with a regular mattress. They must have had this complaint because they now sell a mattress cover that supposedly facilitates air flow. I haven’t tried it. I now sleep on a bamboo tiled mat layered under the sheets. The tiles are cool and really help, once you get used to the odd textured sensation. But, that’s perimenopause for ya. Always hot!
I’ve been thinking a lot about when our marriage really took a turn South. There is rarely one catalytic event, but a series of little teeny things that chip away, gently eroding the marriage as a tide slowly absorbs a sand castle, piece by piece, built during low tide. I didn’t think I should go into these details, but I find at this point, I want to.
At my insistence, we purchased a King-sized Sleep-Number Bed. Because the soon-2-b-X likes a very soft bed, sleeping “in the pit”, as the kids and I call it, and I like a firm bed, there was a height adjustment which caused a clear demarcation line dividing our sides. (The king-sized bed is made of two separate twins.) He would have to climb up to me, or I would have to roll over the edge, into his space. There was no subtle migrating into each others space to cuddle, spoon, or initiate romance. It was almost as if we’d have to set a date to get to the other side. Not spontaneous. No middle of the night accidental fondling, which could lead to more… He’d roll over down into his pit, me perched on my plateau. Never the twain shall meet without an appointment. You snicker? I’m serious! For a relationship that was already sexually challenged, this was the last straw.
I asked that he insulate the master bedroom door, as it is adjacent to a living area where the kids watch TV. Just knowing they were on the other side of the wall was a buzz-killer. I suggested a commercial threshold and foam weather-stripping. He said it would look bad. LOOK BAD? Who gives a shit? I want functionality! A year and a half passed; finally, I made door socks for sound insulation.
I jokingly blame it on the bed, but we couldn’t work out the morning/evening preference either. He preferred middle of the day. I did not. I’d be well into my working day (every day is a working day with little kids) and found it difficult to stop whatever project I was involved in. If there were ever any, “I want you now Baby” hints, they went unnoticed as I flew about my daily chores. Nighttime? Rarely; he went to bed earlier than I because he rose much earlier for work, and I never got all the laundry finished, dishes done, homework reviewed, etc. to join him. Middle of the night/ early in the AM – “Wake me up baby!”? No, he needed his sleep and resented being wakened. Obviously not a priority.
A friend’s husband puts out perfume on her dresser – that’s his hint. I tried buying romantic music CD’s, thinking they could be our “hint”. A baseball bat upside the head is a hint too, and likely more effective. I tried candles. I tried soft porn TV, technically rated R, because there was no way in hell I could rent a true X movie – in spite of its proven success at motivation!! Somehow the DVD’s never got played… We needed a clear “indicator” because I was tired of rejection. I brought all this up during counseling… but it was all too late. Too much scar tissue had already built up over the years.