3:05am: Make half-hearted attempt to convince four year old to return to his own bed without allowing self to wake up completely.
3:07am: Accept the inevitable and scoot into middle of bed. Discover – again – that husband is not going to yield one scrap of his side. Hate him for five whole seconds.
3:15am: Find self wedged between biggest man and littlest man in my house. Recall Facebook posting by hilarious friend which read, “Both feet covered – too hot. Both feet uncovered – too cold. One leg out – perfect.” Discover self trapped in Middle Bed, a cave of testosterone with blanket tented over me and both feet cruelly confined. Recall the images of old Chinese women with bound feet. Feel sympathy.
3:26am: Back sore from lying in the abominable sleeping position of a straight line. Compare self to pencil. Pity self then turn onto right side.
3:28am: Woken with abrupt four year old elbow to the nose. Wrestle freakishly strong child to submission. Hate him for two whole seconds and roll onto left side.
3:29am: Promptly confronted by husband’s ripe, hairy 40 year old arm pit. Mutter profane words under breath. Fling blanket aside and march to bathroom, now fully awake. Grumble.
3:34am: Roll small boy into father’s armpit and take possession of Outer Bed. Compose self in favourite Running Man sleeping position with bottom leg straight and top leg curled up to chest. Sigh with satisfaction as top foot flops out of blanket where it belongs.
3:36am: Discover Outer Bed has been reduced to a mere sliver of mattress and top knee is suspended in thin air. Contemplate the numerous levels on which this situation is Just Wrong.
3:37am: Seismic activity from husband indicates imminent roll over. Grab edge of blanket just as he begins his turn. Rescue bit of blanket that is rightfully mine in exactly the nick of time. Cling for dear life in the Battle of the Blanket, still fully awake.
3:42am: On edge of returning to sleep when husband snuffles, splutters and then appears to die for eight full seconds. Realise that if measures are not taken, bed may soon feature a corpse. Simultaneously A) remind self to book an appointment with a sleep specialist, B) contemplate how a corpse might alter the overall temperature of the bed and C) reach to shift husband onto his side.
3:48am: Realise that, with small boy in Middle Bed, arm is too short to roll hulking husband onto side. Poke him till he starts to breathe again.
(two hours later…)
6:30am: Alarm goes off. Husband stretches then reaches across still sleeping boy to lovingly rest a hand somewhere on my person. Take offending hand off person and fling away from self. Husband confused but still alive. Hate everyone for 15 whole seconds.