I've Been Bedded

About two weeks into our relationship, my boyfriend confessed to me that he hated my bed.

Before

Okay, to be fair, he said something more like "it's really cozy and comfortable, but it hurts my back to sleep on it for more than one night..." and he asked if I would be offended if he bought me a new one. I laughed, a lot. I'm not accustomed to people just up and buying me household furnishings, so I thought he was being a bit presumptuous. I said "what if we break up, and then you'll be thinking 'I can't believe I bought that bitch a bed!'" His reply - "no, I wouldn't. A bed is just a 'thing' anyway." Given my total and complete lack of success at dating up until the moment I met him, I suggested we just make a point to sleep at his place.

Over the next several months we spent the majority of our overnights at his house, with one at my place from time to time.  I thought the subject had been forgotten.

I was wrong.

Last week I got a text from him confirming the size of my mattress. I quickly realized what was happening, but it was too late to stop him. Apparently he really enjoys spending time at my place and wants to do so more, but can't deal with the bed. Last time he stayed over he brought some memory foam and we slept on the floor. The Floor! Because I like a bed when it's available and didn't want to sleep on the floor of my apartment soaking up fumes from the carport below unless I was passed-out cold for some reason, I let him buy the damn bed.

Before the new mattress arrived, I started to get sad. I loved my bed! It's cushy and cozy and is exactly the kind of bed I always wanted to sleep on but never had the opportunity before. I spent my entire childhood sleeping on beanbags or retired hospital beds or double papasan chairs. Or the floor. This bed was given to me as a hand-me-down and was used as a spare bed in my old house - it's fair to say it had been around the block, more than once. I can see how it would be uncomfortable for anyone that weighs any more than 120 (ish) pounds and doesn't enjoy the 'hammock' effect in the middle.

I realize that relationships are about compromise. Paulie has spent the last four months either cleaning his house way more than he normally would because he knows we have to sleep at his place (and for some reason thinks I care if it's clean or not); or spending extra money on his chiropractor because we ended up sleeping at mine.

After

So I quieted my protests. I spent the nights leading up to the delivery making a point to stay under the covers watching hulu or reading. On the morning of, I spent some time laying and rolling around on my sweet, sad mattress. I got under the covers with my tea and book and did some more reading. I let Evie jump on it a for an extra long time. I took a picture of it...as if once the new one came and I put my old covers on it would somehow look different.

Watching my mattress leave was a surprisingly melancholic experience for me. Maybe because it symbolized independence and sexual awakening and change; long nights and nights that were far too short; love in all of its many-changing forms: Kid, Self, Man - in that order.

But whatever.

My kids tested the new one out and they say it's more fun to jump on, so it stays.

**Update: Paulie doesn't sleep any better on the new bed, because while he loves it, now he's worried that it's too firm for me, and that I might not be sleeping well. It's a process.