The husband got home yesterday and decided to trek his sleepy behind with me to Walmart to grab a new blanket. Why? Because there is no heat in our room and it’s about negative degrees in there and we needed a new blanket.
And yes…there could probably be heat if I had somewhere to put all the books that are lined up against the heater, but I’m out of shelves. Don’t judge me. Not this morning.
So we get a new blanket and it’s all super, super fluffy. I mean, this thing is huge, red, and has what looks like polar bear fur on the inside of it. I’m thinking, “Woot! Never gonna freeze again!” We get home and put this thing on the bed. This is the kind of blanket that you want to strip naked and crawl under, burrito roll yourself, and not come out for 8-12 hours or until its time to feed again. Which is exactly what my husband did…I had to get up and actually do stuff during the day.
He leaves for work, nighttime rolls around, and I’m thinking, “Yay! My turn with the blanket!”
I curled up and it felt amazing. I just snuggled deep, rolled around a few times, until all that fuzzy-ness was surrounding my entire body. I think I may have fallen in love a little bit. I mean, I am relatively positive the people at Better Homes and Gardens may have sold theirs and someone else’s soul to get the secret ingredient in baby soft skin, just so they could one up it with this blanket.
This is no exaggeration.
Two in the morning. I have to pee. I’m pregnant. I drink like an ungodly amount of water anymore. I try to get out of the blanket.
It’s like fighting with a cloud. A passive, clinging to me, not about to go anywhere, cloud.
I finally get it off, run to the bathroom like my son when he’s waited to long, hand on crotch, whispering the “I gotta go” mantra. I get out, drink another eight ounces of water, because I’m pregnant and logic is irrelevant when one is pregnant.
I get back into bed and I can feel this blanket. I can feel every fiber along my skin. Where I liked it at first, I don’t now. It’s uncomfortable. I can tell exactly where each piece of this thing is touching me and I’m getting freaked out by it.
Three o’clock, I realize I’m sweating. I mean, the sheet is damp beneath me and I get that panicky, Omg I peed the bed, worry for a moment before I realize that my hair is like glued to my forehead.
I return to my blanket battle, get out, change into something cooler…go to the bathroom again and drink more water.
Four o’clock I have to pee again. Repeat all the above steps from the last time.
I lay there, watching the clock, tossing and turning and thinking the Hell must be covered with these blankets just to keep all the damn heat in. It’s like sleeping with the husband, who stays a constant 9,000 degrees, except suddenly he’s so big that he covers my entire body.
I’m not okay with this.
The alarm finally goes off at six something and I try to turn it off, but I’m stuck.
The husband got back not long after I woke up.
The Husband: How did you sleep?
Me: Fuck that blanket.