Bocce Husband, and loss of sleep

Sleep is a precious thing. We don't realize that unless it is a struggle to obtain it.

I fear that I shall probably tick off Better Half today by posting this, but I am so damned tired.

Better Half? No Sleep? Hmm!

Please remove your mind from the gutters; the sleep deprivation is not due to nocturnal "frolicking". Rather, I have spent the past two nights trying to achieve REM patterns beside a being who is striving to obtain the title Human Freight Train, complete with sound effects and motion.

I love Better Half deeply. He is my dearest friend. I don't love Better Half's snoring and twitching (it begins five minutes after his handsome head hits the pillow, and winds down around 4 AM each morning.) Friday night, I sought relief in the spare room, and he finally came to his senses and traded me beds. Last night, I grit my teeth and attempted to convince myself that Better Half wasn't so bad, and sleep would be found after I tuned out the noise. HA! I think I passed out from lack of oxygen around 5 AM, the pillow I had clutched to my head having suffocated me.

Better Half is a very good person; cheerful, upbeat, intelligent, yadda yadda yadda. Last night, as I lay in auditory hell, I found myself calculating how much physical force would be needed to launch him out of bed via a good, swift kick to the small of his back. If I could somehow muster enough force behind that kick, I could send him soaring over the four feet between the bed and window, though that window, bounce him off the porch cover, and into the Azalea bushes in the flower bed below. I even named this novel sport Bocce Husband. The wife who gets her husband closest to the pallino (target ball) scores the point. Of course, extra points are awarded for style, form and finesse. 50 extra points if he misses the bird feeder. 100 extra points if he lands perfectly between the two Azalea bushes themselves.

Normally, Better Half reserves his snoring for those days when I have to get up extra early for an important activity, such as work or church. I suffer from insomnia as it is, and on those nights I just know I should reach for the phone and schedule other arrangements. It seems, however, that he is no longer limiting this behavior, and has generously chosen to now share it with me nightly. I must remind myself that they make Breathe Right strips, which help wives fall to sleep once they have inserted a box up each of their husband's nostrils. Those magical little strips are expensive, and I prefer to get my daily exercise via the Bocce workout.

It is just after noon, and I woke up about a half hour ago. I have missed church. I am aching from subconsciously clenching all night long. My hair surpasses "bed head", thanks to the pillow I wrapped around it in the early hours of the morning. And, Better Half and all other interested parties - BEWARE - I am extremely bitchy today.

Better Half has a doctor's appointment on Tuesday (just one more night, God! I can do it!), and I think I will pin a note to his chest so that he remembers how important it is to discuss this problem with her. (The note shall read: Free Husband, Housebroken, Good With Kids and Pets.) I will then schedule an appointment for the Italian Greyhound, who sleeps in Better Half's arms - the poor little fellow is probably going deaf.