Battle of the Bed

I wouldn't mind living in a 1950's sitcom. You know, when the husband and wife were forced to sleep in separate beds in the bedroom?  It's not that I don't like sharing a bed with my husband, it's just that by the time he has spread out and made himself comfortable, there's not much bed left for me.  And when we have two little ones trying to squeeze their way into what's left after I get comfortable, I'm usually the one waking up with a stiff neck.

Picture it:  Hubby and I decide to hit the sack. After fighting over whose pillows are whose, we settle down, cuddle up and drift off into peaceful slumber.  Sometime after REM sleep has kicked in, I am awakened by a faceful of Leila's hair.  I used to be awakened by the sound of the bedroom door opening, but Leila has since become a master of sneak, and can enter and exit any room with the stealth of a ninja.  I realize that I have been pushed to the edge of the bed and am covered by only one quarter of the blanket while Leila is rolled up like a little burrito in what was supposed to be my share of the covers. So I pick Leila up and carry her back to her bed, make a pit stop in the bathroom and crawl back into my own bed.

I close my eyes and just before I drift into the land of Nod, I hear Mia crying because she is getting over a cold and her stuffy nose makes for difficult breathing as she tries to suck her thumb.  I wait to see if she will stop crying on her own and go back to sleep, but the whines are getting louder, and before she wakes up her sister, I decide to *sigh* bring her back to our bed, with every intention of putting her back in the crib once she falls back asleep.  Mia has other plans. She wants to know what every sound is and what the shadows are on the wall, and then she wants to name all of my body parts.  At 3 a.m.  I am quite sure that I fall asleep before she does, and I am dreaming of being in a bad game of dodge ball during which my feet are cemented to the ground and I am being pelted with medicine balls from every angle.  I begin to wake up, realizing that it is now morning and I am not being pelted by medicine balls, but instead my one- and three-year-olds are pile-driving me as I sleep.  I am completely without covers, my arm is entirely numb in a strange contortion underneath my torso and my neck feels like I had been doing the "Night at the Roxbury" head bop all night.  I manage to turn my head without cracking a vertebra to see hubby wrapped warmly in the blanket with his back turned to our WWE match, soundly sleeping. Of course.