Years ago when my daughter, now 16, was just a little thing and would have a nightmare or if her dad was out of town, she’d crawl in the bed with me and gently tuck in. This was not representative of what was to come once she fell asleep.
Most humans sleep vertically in their beds with head on the pillow at the top of the bed, followed by their body, and then their feet at the end of the bed in a relatively straight line. Yes, you may roll some and spread your arms and legs out in a configuration, but you are relatively vertical.
Well, not my daughter. Within 20 to 30 minutes she would have turned completely horizontal and instead of her sweet little head at my rib cage, it would be her restless leg syndrome tiny feet. In some of her dreams, she was kicking the crap out of someone aka my ribs and stomach or she was running a race, again, on my ribs and stomach. It was a nightmare. When we would go out of town and sleeping arrangements had to be made, we’d flip a coin of who had to sleep with this disoriented active in her sleep child. I lost, a lot.
When I became a single person again, I slept like a starfish because, for the first time in a long time, I had the bed all to myself, although I’d starfish for about 5 minutes and then tuck into a ball on ‘my’ side of the bed to fall asleep.
Fast forward to meeting the Professor, marrying him, and I’m now up against another disturbed sleeper capable of taking out an eye or in my case, dislodging a row of eyelashes.
I have written about this before but an all-time different scene played out earlier this morning that not only scared the stew outta me, hurt a little, and later made me laugh, but it was just crazy and worth a blog mention.
In addition to flailing, demonstrating restless foot and leg syndrome, talking in his sleep, snoring, sometimes holding his breath, which he won’t do anything about, sigh, he pulled a new one on me this morning.
So there I am, tucked into my ball on my side of the bed but I was facing the Professor’s side of the bed which I normally don’t do, I don’t know why I just don’t. Well, I know now why I don’t . . .
In my ball, sleeping innocently, I feel the bed and blankets move and I know the Professor is on the move, rolls over to face me with fists a blazing apparently, pops me in the right eye (not hard), scares me and I yelp, “Owe, what the what?” He immediately apologizes and when I sit up a little to assess my near KO’d situation, I feel my eyelashes flutter down my cheek. Crap! Well, the nutty Professor sees this and busts out laughing so hard, he farts, which causes me to start laughing, and then I realize I am about to wet my pants as I grab my eyelashes and go dashing for the toilet.
Now, I wasn’t KO’d but my poor eyelashes were. The little Bruiser Professor managed to mangle the hell outta my eyelashes and as I tried to revive them with eyelash CPR it was clear, they were not only KO’d, they were dead.
After putting more on and going back into the bedroom to bless out the Nutty Bruiser Professor, he started laughing again and so did I. “Listen, Bruiser, you keep your restless leg, snoring, Ninja flipping, little fists away from this face or else!” He laughed some more, farted a few more times, then rolled over, and went back to sleep.
I love this man with all of my heart. My eyelashes avoid him at all costs and don’t like him very much but I sure do. I can’t help myself. He’s a gem.
I’ve decided that I am putting up a protective husband baby type gate in my bed to protect my body parts and eyelashes from harm. Perhaps this will show him that I mean it when I say, “Or else!”