As I've said before, I've never wanted to be one-half of that married couple who sleeps in separate beds. Mostly because my grandparents had separate bedrooms on opposite ends of their ranch-style house, and I concluded (at a mere six years old) that that meant they didn't love each other. Even though my idea may well have been WAY off base, it stuck with me. So even though I frequently bitch and moan about my husband's sleep style (replete with flailing limbs and snore symphonies), I've never been down with bunking separately.
But last night, because we were last-minute Lucys when it came to nailing down lodging on Chincoteague Island (wild ponies, y'all, go there!), Slim and I wound up in a hotel room with two double beds. Oh, well, we thought, it's only for one night. All sexy shenanigans can happen in one bed, and then we can just retire to our separate (but close) quarters. Well, it worked out better than I could've ever dreamed (no pun intended). I slept super-soundly, and there was nothing depressing or lonely about it. After all, there was only a foot of space between the two beds. If I'd wanted to, I could have reached out and given Jack a shove before asking him to roll the eff over (which is an every 15 minutes kind of thing most nights), but I didn't do that because I was busy SLEEPING. Maybe it was the proximity to the ocean -- which always soothes me to sleep -- but I'm guessing that not having my covers yanked off, or having to take an elbow to the eye, played a more significant role. So now I'm reconsidering my staunch co-sleeping stance.
What do you guys think? Would you consider going the way of Lucy and Desi? Should I?
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