A Queen Looking for a King

Sleeping is a time for stretching in my house. We (I mean the female we's in the house) like to sleep as starfish as possible.

My daughter still sleeps the same way she did when I was pregnant with her... Stretched out as far as she can go. However, now she's only restricted by the walls of her crib, not the walls of my uterus or my rib cage.

Even the dog who sleeps curled up in a ball for most of the night tries to gain a little more tail room by wiggling her boney ass in an attempt to wedge me from my designated sleeping area. (She usually gets kicked out for this infraction.)

This in turn means I start to encroach on Stoofy's space. Basically at the end of the night, he's literally on the edge of his seat and I've taken up most of the rest of the bed, minus the dog's spot at my feet.

And this violation of our bed's Monroe Doctrine is a violation of Stoofy's and my unspoken marriage vows.

I apparently vowed I wouldn't try to take over his whole life. So taking over his sleeping space kind of negates my promise.  Oops!

I can't help it.  When it's time to sleep, I need my space.  No cuddling allowed! I need room to myself to stretch out and get comfy.  I roam free, even in my sleep.  And I've passed that on to my daughter. 

It worries Stoofy to no end that he may never get to actually have space to sleep as she gets older.  Because there will inevitably be nights where the boogie man scares Elly and she finds her way into our bed for safe keeping.  And although I'd like to say I'd shoo her back to bed immediately, but I’d probably be lying.  When sleepy, I’ll give in to just about anything just to get back to my REM cycle.  So if that means letting a crying child climb in to my bed so I can get back to my dream I'll probably do it. 

In Stoofy's mind that means two starfish.  Two competing sets of arms and legs flailing around looking to occupy as much space as possible.  It concerns him to say the least.  His solution is to put his foot down and make me go back to my side. 

The really amazing thing is that when I have a smaller space to sleep in, I only occupy that much space.  But give me a bigger space, and I'll use it.  Kind of like the bigger the purse the more stuff you NEED to carry with you!

I mean, on deployment 'racks' (as we call them in the Navy) are TINY to say the least.  (I think the reason why there are weight restrictions in the Navy is because if you're too fat to get into your rack then what the hell are you going to do? You can't exactly knock out a wall to make more room!)  And I do just fine there.  I don’t' flail around.  There just isn't room for that.  You just climb in and sleep.  No moving except for the rocking of the ship. (If the ship's a rockin' don't come a knockin'! HAHAHA! That's what she said! I'm 12 this morning.)

So I feel like the only solution to this conundrum is to upgrade sleeping arrangements. 

TIME FOR A KING!

The Art of Compromise SUCKS

The last few weeks since Stoofy returned home from Washington has had its ups and downs.  Just like every time we reunite after a separation, there's some getting used to and getting back into the swing of things. 

Mostly, it's a fight over compromise.  When we have to go our own ways for deployments (or this last time, he was our "advanced party" for our move west, which didn't transpire) we have no choice but to become independent of one another.  He has to learn to fend for himself when it comes to eating and doing laundry.  I have to suck it up and take out the trash and get the oil changed. 

When we reunited, it's a matter of relinquishing a bit of that independence and depending on one another to work as a team.  It's all about compromise.  And let's just go ahead and say it: I DON'T LIKE TO COMPROMISE. 

Honestly, what's the point when I'm right? (I should probably stop writing this if I ever have a dream of running for Congress some day... oh wait, no one there compromises either.  I'll fit right in!) I mean, who wants to give up the TV remote to watch another mind numbing episode of Family Guy when I still need to catch up on my RHWofNJ, RHWofBH, and Jersey Shore? Uh, not this Betty.

And if you ask Stoofy who's right during our 'disagreements' he'll tell you he's right.  So, there you have it... two stubborn, unwilling to compromise people... married.... FOR-EV-ER.  (How the hell did this even happen? Oh yeah... LOVE)

Our latest issue to find a compromise on: Elly's sleep patterns.  She's had a dedicated bedtime for about 2.5 months... until daddy came home and decided to put her to sleep when he feels like it.  And semi-dedicated nap times through the day? Yeah, those are long gone and nap time is when he feels like it. 

Now, I've tried to be flexible, I've tried to explain it's good to have a set routine.  Kids thrive on routine.  According to him, this is his routine. (It's like you can see the speeding train about to de-rail and yet, no one does anything to stop it.  You can see how this is about to work out, right?)

Ok, fine.  I'll give in.  Except, now the consequence is she wakes up screaming for an hour and a half at 2 in the morning.  And who gets the privilege of waking up, calming her down, and waiting for her to cry it out?  Me. Stoofy snores right through it all, since that's his contribution to the compromise according to him.  And each morning he wakes up wondering why I didn't come to bed.  Seriously? 

And this is why compromise sucks.  I hate it and I don't like to do it.  I want it my way damn it!  And I want some fucking sleep!!!! 

So here's my compromise to him: When she wakes up screaming tonight (because I know she will), I'll be elbowing him until he's awake, and he can come stand next to me and wait for her to fall back asleep (two hours later).  The compromise?  All three of us can be sleep deprived and miserable.  Because fair is fair!

I think it'll only take one night of that for him to compromise and see it my way again! :-)  Because if mama ain't happy, nobody happy!