I grew up with twin beds...I don't get why teenagers today have full beds, but I always had a twin (can you tell I'm a little bitter?). When I moved into a house in college, I "took over" someone else's abandoned full-sized bed...isn't that gross? Even worse? When I graduated and moved out, I took it with me. I seriously have no idea where that bed came from or how old it was, but it served me well for several years. I finally got rid of it (I think it broke in half or something like that). I had a full bed until we moved into our house.
At that point, Bill and I decided that we were, indeed, adults and deserved a bigger bed. We waited until we painted the master bedroom, ordered furniture, and ordered our first king size mattress. Alas, we ordered more furniture than we needed and our bedroom is totally overcrowded, but we have an awesome bed.
That bed has gotten me through aches and pains of initial renovations, many months of trying to conceive (fruitlessly...haha...get it?), several nights of crying myself to sleep thinking that it would never happen and that I was "broken," days of bed rest after egg retrieval and transfer, a leaning post if you will for the PIO shots in my ass (ouch!), and finally...after all that...we were pregnant. The IVF had worked...all of those shots and pills and suppositories had done their job. That bed held me and Bill as we stared at each other in disbelief...we were going to have babies.
After that, the bed became a place where I would enjoy many breakfasts in bed (made by my lovely husband) because I couldn't stop eating, several foot rubs, a lot of sleepless nights due to worry and excitement. It also became the place that I couldn't move in...I would finally get comfortable, wrapped around the body pillow, empty bladder, sciatica in check, and something would happen...a baby would kick, I would have an itch, I'd get a cramp...then the bed became a torture chamber. You see, I had indented this mattress with the shape of my body to the point where I couldn't get out of my divot...that's what I called it...my divot, but it was actually a hole that my ass had created. Let's be honest...I have no idea how big I really got during pregnancy, but I was definitely pushing 200 pounds...apparently 75 of them were in my ass! The divot was huge and I couldn't get myself out of it. This resulted in having to wake Bill up in the middle of the night to help me escape from my divot. I would be flailing around with some horrendous cramp...desperately needing to stand up to relieve the cramp, but stuck...like a turtle...in my divot.
The bed was also quite high...while I was pregnant, I lost the ability to crawl into bed on my own. I simply couldn't do it. We ordered a step-stool to help me on my journey and that thing lasted for quite a while...I finally broke it AFTER the babies were born when I wasn't pushing 200 pounds. Thank God I didn't have a baby in my arms...I nearly broke my ankle! Before we got the step-stool, Bill had to help me into bed by giving me a boost...ridiculous, right? My sister spent about an hour with me on that bed trying to get support hose over my hugely swollen legs/feet...we were laughing our asses off, but I couldn't really laugh because the sciatica hurt too much. I could only do this weird grunting sounds and cry my eyes out...half because the situation was so funny, but half because it hurt me so much!
After the babies were born, I spent a lot of time on the bed. I slept (thank God), nursed, ate, watched TV, napped, escaped, and prayed that things would get easier. That was a tough time for me...let's just say I'm not a "newborn Mom." It wasn't my favorite time at all. It has gotten easier though. Now, when I crawl into my bed, I know my divot will be waiting for me and I look forward to it every night. I love my bed.