I spent the first 39 years of my life sleeping in a bed by myself, and only the last year sharing with someone else. But boy, has the last week of sleeping alone while H is out of town felt strange! But apparently I am subconsciously enjoying it, because I woke up this morning sprawled sideways across the bed, with one arm dangling off one side and one foot hanging off the other.
I’m sure Freud would have plenty to say about this. Perhaps I was searching the bed for my lost love. Perhaps I was re-claiming my territory in his absence. Perhaps I was symbolically throwing myself on his funeral pyre to protest his abandonment of me. Yeah, I doubt those, too. I think I was just taking advantage of having a queen-size bed all to myself and just making the most of it.
Although the “searching” idea does have some merit. When H is there, I often find myself creeping over to his side of the bed, to warm my feet against his, or to twine our hands together, or just to snuggle against his warm back. I tend to be a restless and wakeful sleeper, and I find that just being near him relaxes me and helps me sleep better. Even when I do wake in the middle of the night, hearing his quiet breathing (or his not-so-quiet snoring) soothes me back to sleep.
I suppose there’s something very primitive in each of us that appreciates the safety of not sleeping alone – after all, if a saber-toothed tiger comes into the cave in the middle of the night, there’s someone else there to help fight it off (or at least to get eaten first while you escape). In a more modern world, there’s someone else to go check for burglars when you hear a noise downstairs.
I just find it pleasant in general to have someone to hunker down with as we drift off to sleep, someone who has my back even when my back doesn’t need to be had, someone to murmur sweet nothings to at the end of a long day. Thank goodness I only have one more night of sprawling across the bed by myself before my wonderful H is back home with me!