memo: re. sleeping

Dear Bean,
If/when you ever get to read this, you'll already know the guiding theme of this letter: your parents are big weirdos. I am making an effort, on your behalf, to at least make us the kind of weirdos who are harmless and moderately charming as opposed to the kind who inspire made-for-TV movies.
Here's the deal: we can't sleep together. What I mean is that if we are actually meaning to get 8 hours of sleep together in one bed, it rarely happens. There are a variety of factors that contribute to this struggle. They are:

1. Your dad is a giant who takes up 2/3 of the bed when he's NOT sprawled out.
2. Your dad sprawls.
3. Your dad kicks and hits in his sleep.
4. Your dad talks in his sleep.
5. Your dad breathes in his sleep.
6. Your mom can't tolerate any of the above.

We've spent the last 10 months playing musical sleeping spots between the bed and the two couches. More often than not, your dad and I have each made a nest on a couch and we bed down for a few nights there. This is just not satisfactory to me as I do like your dad and snuggling is pretty important to me. So, we made the bedroom into a big nest. The incentive for us to share a nest is that now the TV is in the bedroom. I know it's pretty sad, but at least we're figuring it out.

This new arrangement has been delightful, with the following exceptions:

1. We like to snack while watching TV.
2. I am not a fan of snack remnants in the bed.
3. Your dad still does all of the above things.
4. Apparently, when I am in close enough physical proximity, I get to be the constant victim of harassment. It's like sharing the bed with an enormous 5 year old. Tickling, toe-pinching, steam-rolling, farting, giggling, ear-yanking, & anything else that would inspire the average person to beat their partner with a bat.
5. The dogs find the arrangement irresistible and attempt to sneak up on the bed at least 7 times a night. (1 TD + 1 normal person + 1 dog + 1 dog = chaos)

We are still committed to making this work, though the odds are stacked against us. I knew going into this situation that sleeping would get even harder the further into the pregnancy I got, but I didn't know that it would happen so fast. Last night, after your dad threw a tantrum and sulked off to the couch (I dared to tell him to move over to HIS side of the bed), I sighed with relief and spread out. And then... I felt it. The distinct discomfort of trying to find a good sleeping position. Stomach? No longer an option-- the belly's still small enough that it's okay, but the boobs are fantastically large and sore. Ow. I'll keep the complaining to a minimum, but suffice it to say that all aches are magnified now and nothing feels quite right. I can't wait for the next 25 weeks to happen...

xoxoxo-- your ma.

p.s. I woke up this morning to a snout in my ear that was snoring (no really, the snout was touching my ear). It wasn't your father; it was a dog. A killer dog.

p.p.s. This week on her blog, S shared an equation for figuring out how tall a kid might get, based on the height of his/her parents. By my calculations, if you're a girl, you'll be 5'9'' and if you're a boy, you'll be 6' 7". Wow. I also learned that your dad is taller than almost all of the Utah Jazz basketball players. He works security at some of the games and says that he only knows for sure that one of them is taller than him. The rest, he thinks, are midgets.