My husband works in another city two hours away by car so we only get to see him on weekends. During the weekdays, I sleep with my nine year old daughter who, having asthma has learned to breathe on her mouth at times and even during sleep thus the drool. I am used to sleeping with damp, smelly pillows and though I am at times annoyed by it, I love the chance to still sleep with my little girl until she may be old enough to find it almost an embarrassment to sleep with a parent. I treasure these moments.
On weekends, my daughter goes to sleep in her own room, drooling on her own pillows while I get to sleep with hubby and get the snores! Hubby does not just snore he has variations that can be considered for awards in best sound effects! There is the motorcycle – a snore that starts like a motorbike kicking into gear, runs a few miles then hits some speed bump and stops, abruptly then starts again – amazingly enough he sleeps through the entire journey. Then there is the kettle; a slow churning that hits a mighty boil then simmers until the entire process begins anew. I feel like being in a witch’s kitchen, beside a cauldron of bubbling froth that is my husband. Finally there is the old geezer. It starts like an asthmatic old man on the brink of death, and then builds into a whizzing fit that anti-climaxes into a snort-like sound of an offended pig having been chastised by its master. Being a light sleeper, the weekends are torture to me to say the least. I’d often get up and tire my eyes away on Facebook or reading until exhausted I could no longer care about the noisy sleeper beside me.
Lately though I find the “noise” comforting. As we grow older, I realize I should be thankful for the snores. They are proof that my husband is alive and well and will still be with me when I wake up. In fact, I have even woken up to sounds of silence, where I panic and touch my husband, making sure he still breathes. When certain of his life, I thankfully sigh and go back to sleep and just when I’m at brink of really falling into deeper slumber, the snores start, mocking me and assuring me at the same time. Likewise I’ve woken to annoyingly damp pillows which I just overturn and ignore until the next day. You can imagine our laundry and how often pillows and pillowcases get changed in our household. I feel like a hotel chambermaid at times, feeling oppressed by inconsiderate guests.
However, caught between the drooler and the snorer I am indeed happy and thankful. I despise the drool but love the drooler. I abhor the snores but cherish the snorer. I do snore myself and on occasion may have drooled so there, no one is perfect. Damp pillows and noise-induced sleepless nights are welcome signs that my little girl and husband are beside me and I am more than happy. I am content. Everything else, as they say, is icing on the cake.
