I seem to post about sleep a lot. It’s something you don’t think about when it’s a normal and natural process, but when there’s a problem with it, you can think of little else.
I’ve been sleeping quite well lately, but only in the spare room upstairs. I’ve slept with B around 4 times in the past month.
My sleeping requirements have become very specific. It needs to be quiet – noise from outside or the restaurant next door scuppers any attempts at slumber. Yet, I can’t stand the silence. In the silence I focus on my heartbeat, which sounds weird but it’s an anxiety thing. So I have the fan on. I find the white noise soothing. If I still can’t sleep, I get up to watch tv or read for a while, until I’m woozy enough to go back to bed.
B doesn’t particularly like sleeping apart, so every now and then I give dual sleeping another chance. It doesn’t seem to go particularly well. Last night is a case in point.
We go to bed. B goes to sleep more or less immediately.
I lie there.
B lies facing away from me but his arm is on my side. Every now and then he twitches and involuntarily grabs me with his hand.
B rubs his feet together, like a cricket. He does this in his sleep sometimes. It makes a raspy noise.
I get up and watch ‘Confessions of an animal hoarder’ before falling asleep on the sofa.
I’ve read that the practice of couples sleeping in the same bed is a relatively recent one. In Roman times only poor couples slept together – the wealthy preferred separate bedrooms.
Perhaps we could emulate the Tudors at our house. King Henry VIII kept his own sleeping quarters, as did his Queen. He would visit her bed chamber, for obvious reasons, then retire to his own for sleeping.
Of course, this also allowed Henry to visit his numerous mistresses, serving girls and whoever else took his fancy. This wouldn’t be the case with us. B doesn’t have options.