It all began with a simple message from Jake. He started cautiously, weaving his affections into our computer chats. First, it was sweet nothings like “I LOVE the way YOU laugh” or “I LOVE spending time with YOU.” Then one day, he took the plunge and declared, “I LOVE YOU.” Those were the days we spent in our cramped dorm rooms, cramming for exams and jamming to our favorite tunes by Dave Matthews and Pearl Jam, all while trying to make the best of those uncomfortable twin beds. We only worried about which roommate was out, because even the tiniest space felt like paradise when we were together.
After Jake graduated a year ahead of me, he moved to a dark, walk-up apartment on Main Street in a sleepy town filled with row homes and a dingy bar known for its decent chicken wings. Thankfully, we had both upgraded to full-size beds, but those Sunday to Thursday nights felt achingly empty when we were apart. I counted down the days until the weekend, when we could share a fleeting glimpse of what our life together could be. I attempted to channel my inner domestic goddess, whipping up dinners like baked chicken and Campbell’s soup with Stove Top stuffing, feeling like a culinary genius compared to takeout or canned beans. Jake, ever the gentleman, ate my casserole experiments, even though it took years before he confessed his disdain for baked meat.
Saying goodbye on Sundays was always tough, with insecurities bubbling up and jealousy creeping in. Tearful farewells became the norm. Loving long-distance took work—it required trust, sacrifice, and the kind of compromise that came easier in our twin-bed days. Now, we had to choose between cuddling or rolling over in our full-size beds.
When Jake proposed to me on a beach in North Carolina right before my graduation, I didn’t hesitate to say yes. I was ready to embrace the concept of “us” and make choices that were no longer solely mine. We tied the knot in 1999, with Jake as a first-year podiatry student and me as a novice teacher. Our college bed stayed with us for four more years until we bought our first house outside of Atlanta when he began his residency. It was there that we decided to invest in a queen-size bed, which felt like a luxury compared to our previous arrangements.
Being “us” brought a sense of security: shared everything. Over the next five years, we painted our walls, hung pictures, created a joint bank account, and debated the merits of white versus colored Christmas lights. We alternated holidays with our families, and celebrated some just the two of us. Then, everything changed when we found out we were expecting. Lying in bed together, we read about each week of our baby’s development, dreaming about our future family.
We tried to keep our bed our sanctuary by using a co-sleeper, but our son had other plans—he screamed every time we laid him down flat. Our sacred space was quickly overtaken by the realities of parenthood, with sleep taking precedence over intimacy. I attempted various methods, including a wedge pillow to keep our son upright during feedings, but for the first three months, Jake and I ended up navigating the night shifts on the couch.
When we welcomed our second son, our old full-size bed moved into the nursery, as Jake needed uninterrupted sleep for his patients. While we began our nights together, I often found myself bouncing between beds for years. Our youngest didn’t sleep more than five hours at a stretch until he was five. Those were exhausting times, with mornings often bringing neck cramps from a child sleeping sideways across me. I longed for the simplicity of our dorm days spent entwined in each other.
Yet, you never go back to a twin bed. In fact, our bed just continued to grow. After a decade of parenting and over 20 years together, we finally took the plunge and bought a king-size bed. I distinctly remember the first night—it was pure bliss. I could stretch out freely, curl up, or sprawl without touching Jake. There was now ample room for the kids to join us on stormy nights or lazy Sunday mornings.
After spending more than half my life with Jake, I realize that each day is a choice to love one another. Marriage isn’t just a safety net, much like a twin bed isn’t truly comfortable. But the greatest part of my day is still when we roll toward the center of our king-size bed to share a morning kiss or a goodnight hug.
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In summary, the evolution of our bed mirrors the journey of our relationship—growing from a tight, shared space to a sprawling king-size refuge, each stage marked by love, challenges, and the beautiful chaos of family life.
Keyphrase: The Journey of Our Bed
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