My Red-Hot Bedroom Fantasy


Coffee letterpress card by greengrasspress on Etsy.

I am a pretty great mother, wife, teacher, writer, friend and relative — when, that is, I’ve had eight to twelve hours of uninterrupted hours of sleep and a recent, large serving of strong coffee. Of course, I can’t remember the last time this happened. Realistically it was at least three years ago, and my oldest child is two. So you do the math. I’m too tired.

No, really, I shouldn’t complain. Alton has been a super duper great sleeper and baby-sleep-gods I really am not trying to tempt you into crushing my soul by reversing this, please believe me. A friend recently reported that her newborn screams uncontrollably every night from 11:30-2. I almost burst into tears just hearing this. So Harper likes to rise, roosterishly, in the 5-6 am region. That’s nothing, really, compared with what some mothers have to deal with.

That said, I have been fantasizing about sleep lately. I’d guess my sleep life is about on par with most married couple’s sex lives: totally fine. I get what sleep I need to get. I function. Sometimes (Mother’s Day) I get some extra. For the most part, I’m good. But that doesn’t stop me from fantasizing.

In my fantasies, the bed is big. Huge. We have a full-size bed that is occasionally occupied by 2 adults (granted, I’m the size of an average fifth-grader, but Adam is a normal adult-style-human), 2 small children, and a mid-sized mutt. But in my sleep-fantasy-life the bed is huge and covered in white sheets that are somehow self-cleaning, like pale linen ovens. Nearby windows allow filtered sunlight in through gently blowing white curtains. It’s basically the pleasant-back-home-memory-sequence from any war movie, I guess.

In this bed, I comfortably sleep for hours and hours, waking up only when I am rested and ready to be up, at which time I laze about reading until I feel creaky, and/or am served coffee.  I dimly recall pre-child weekends when Adam and I would wake up and moan, “Oh, we slept too late!” and drag ourselves out into the world so that we could reasonably brunch and still call it brunch. Now I wonder if this ever really happened at all.  But I think it did, and I think I recall going home afterwards and sometimes NAPPING because the brunch bloody marys had made us drowsy. GOOD GOD.

In lieu of this pornishly excessive sleep, I cling to the single cup of caffeinated coffee our pediatrician okayed for a nursing mother.  The dick.  My cup of coffee has become a near-sacred ritual. And it has not gone unnoticed. Harper’s ballerinas, when they are having a really good day, go to the lego-block café and read pink books while drinking polka-dot coffee. Sounds like heaven to me.

6 responses to “My Red-Hot Bedroom Fantasy

  1. Good news and bad news: bad news is you will never sleep like that again. Just kiss that one goodbye.
    Good news is that you are genetically inclined (well, as far as your mother and her mother count in the hereditary line-up) to a long-lasting passion for strong coffee which, unlike sex, may be purchased without guilt. Well, with minimal guilt.

  2. Though I have no children, I do have that flowy white sheet fantasy… They are so soft, never covered in bloodstains/foot crumbs, and always warm and sweet smelling.

  3. Hi Amy, It was nice to meet you today, I will be looking at more than the first entry but so far I can relate! Once, I went to my friend’s house and she had the bed with embroidered white sheets. They looked and felt so good, I imagined her being some sort of a princess who deserves such luxury. Few months later, while sheet shopping, I bought the white. Fuck it, you only live ones. They were awesome for the first few months. Now, they are embarrassing.

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