For Christmas last year, my sister was kind enough to grant my request for a body pillow. Although she didn’t take the time to wrap it or disguise it in any shape or form, I luxuriated in its white fluffliness, nestled under the twinkling Christmas tree.
I asked for the body pillow because after two pregnancies, I have become sick and tired of the nightly ritual of hoisting and tucking myself into bed. Seriously, once the belly takes over, (and as we all know, that’s very early for me…hhmmpph) I practically need a crane to roll and lift me out of bed.
A typical nightly “tucking in” would go something like this:
1. Get a running start into bed
2. Begin from the bottom up; start by tucking one pillow between my knees, to keep proper body alignment.
3. Jam pillow #2 underneath my monstrous belly, thereby preventing suffocation to all of my internal organs.
4. Ask the hubs to hoist pillows #3 and #3 underneath my back to prevent gravity from sucking me into the middle of the bed.
This hour-long process would exasperate both me and Ben; he, of course, because by the time I was sufficiently positioned, there would be approximately 3/4 of an inch of space left for his 6’1″ inch body–and no pillows. And then, the worst part being that in less than an hour, I would inevitably have to get up to pee, and the whole stinken’ process would start all over again.
So this, time, I got smart and asked for the beloved body pillow.
Last week, my belly deemed it time to break out said body pillow. It was glorious. Running the full length of our bed, I could shove that cushiony heaven under my belly and breathe again. Hugging it to me, I drifted off into the best sleep yet of my pregnancy.
Approximately 3 hours later, I awakened for my requisite nightly pee. (How I look forward to when this becomes the requisite thrice nightly pees…)
Pulling the covers back, I automatically reached in front of me to remove the beloved body pillow from its trappings beneath my stomach…only to find…nothing.
Panicked, I sat up, peering over the bed to see if I had kicked it off on to the floor.
No sign of it. I searched beneath my covers.
Frantic, I pondered what could have happened to it. Did one of the girls sneak it and steal it from me? Was it abducted by aliens? Did my sister take it back in the middle of the night, laughing in jest at her poor, pregnant sister? How could this have happened–my once chance at sleeping comfortably?
Finally, I gave up and trudged to the bathroom.
And on the way back, in the light of the moon from my bedroom window, I saw it.
My husband, happily asleep, snuggled up to my body pillow, one leg thrown across it as he hugged it to his chest, a peaceful smile on his face.
Oh no, he didn’t.
Except he did.
Let the body pillow wars begin.
Since then, it is on in our bedroom. And not in any way you may be thinking–we are talking a full-on fight to who can claim the body pillow for the night. If I let my guard down for one second, my precious pillow is snatched out from beneath me and I will wake up, alone and uncushioned, to find my husband hugging it to him happily. Somehow, he does this all while fast asleep, keeping an iron-clenched grip on it as I try to wrestle it back.
Some nights, I have woken up and we are both hugging it between us, its abundant white heavenly shape happy to share with all who seek its comfort.
It’s a mystery to me, how this man who has no idea what it feels like to bear and birth his children has the nerve to become the midnight body pillow snatcher.
But I will not give up the fight easily, my friends.
I will win my body pillow back.
Even if it means buying him his own.