Love is…being willing to share a bed.

Brandon and I have now been married for two and a half years. One of the perils of early marriage for me was getting used to sharing a bed with someone. I’ve always been pretty protective of my sleep and can be pretty grumpy if I don’t get enough of it. My darling husband, because he is prone to seasonal allergies, wears Breathe Right strips to keep him from snoring. They don’t always work, so sometimes, I wake up a little to his snoring and order him to turn over on his side. I’ve also recently developed the very irritating habit of waking up in the middle of the night because I have to go to the restroom. The urge literally wakes me up. On the rare nights that it doesn’t wake me up, something else often will, and I’ll have to trudge to the bathroom anyway. And no I’m not pregnant.

Last night, neither of those things happened. But I did wake up approximately an hour and a half after falling asleep.

Around 1 a.m., Brandon jumped out of bed and said, “Katy, look at this! Do you see that? What is that!?” In the dark, I could vaguely see him pointing wildly up at the ceiling fan, which was not moving. He quickly proclaimed he was turning on the light, flipped the switch to the lamp and then stood there in the middle of the room in his underwear glancing from the me to the ceiling fan going “didjaseethat!?”

I flopped my head back down on my pillow.

“Babe, you’re asleep!”

“I am?”

“Yes, now turn off the light and get back in bed.”

Miraculously, he did. Quietly, he climbed back into bed, thoroughly confused. He apologized for waking me up. And all the while, he remained asleep and somewhat befuddled that the orange orb he now remembers floating through the air in our bedroom had vanished in the dark.