Going to the Other Side

     After more than a quarter century of sharing a bed, my husband and I decided to switch sides.
     I don't know how I first wound up on the right side, and I don't think I paid much attention to it in the beginning.  But after our son was born, the number of steps to the baby's room at midnight, 2:00, 3:00 and 4:00 seemed to add up.  The right side of the bed was closer to his room, and that was some small victory.
     When we moved to Wilmette, I once again chose the side closer to the children, knowing by then that no one cries, "Daddy" when they are vomiting at 3 a.m.
     I liked my side.  In addition to being closer to the door, it was also closer to the bathroom. I could snuggle up into the crook of my husband's arm and clearly see the television.  We purchased a headboard that was called a "library bed," and I arranged Tolstoy, Austen and Sedaris right above my head, hoping some of their brilliance would infect my dreams.
     But over the last year or so my husband has been a late night wanderer, getting up several times each night. As a lark I suggested we change sides.  I didn't really mean it.  It's like suggesting he become the mother and I'll be the father--I didn't think it could be done.  My side is My Side.
     But my husband wanted to try it.  I wanted to back out, but I didn't have the facts on my side.  There are no longer any children in this house crying in the night.  Occasionally I open our bedroom door in the wee hours to see if our son, when home from college, has decided to visit his bed.  But this is rare.  My husband is up every single night.
     We did not switch right away.  I needed time to get emotionally prepared.  It reminded me of when I was encouraging our son to give up his Binky.  "You can do it!"  I'd cheer.  "Three more days til you give up your Binky!" Then, "Two more days!" And finally, "Today is the day!"  As with the Binky intervention, only one of the parties was excited.
     We did NOT switch our books and magazines to the other side, which would be the more permanent transfer of real estate.  I prepared myself to sleep below a fat stack of golf magazines.  Clearly my husband had been harboring the same hopes for magical improvement.
     The first night on my new side I had a dream that I was lost on my block.  I kept ringing every doorbell on Meadow Drive looking for my house, but I couldn't find it.
     A significant problem we encountered was cuddling.  I could not fit in my husband's crook and still see The Daily Show.  My husband couldn't turn the other way because of a bad back, and so our usual spooning was out.
     Each morning I asked my husband how he slept, not knowing what I wanted to hear.  Of course I wanted him to have a better night's sleep, but a part of me (not a big part, well maybe a little big) was hoping there was no improvement, and I could go back to my old side.
     This morning we made a final decision.  My husband was not sleeping any better on my side which I found astonishing, because my side is so much cozier. He's going back to his old side where he will  have to trudge the additional eight steps to the door.  It's not exactly the Chicago Marathon.  I actually think he's looking forward to it.
     I can't wait.