My dear husband snores.
Hello dear readers. I am writing this blog post over the sound of my dear husband snoring. So I have noise cancelling headphones on. He is an average sized guy. He is certainly not huge. But his snores? They are fucking massive. His snores are so freaking loud. Like, if you were in a nightclub on New Years Eve and he was asleep in the corner and the DJ turned it up and everyone cheered because it was midnight, you would still hear his snores.
He’s awesome and also awesome at snoring.
When I’m asleep and he happens to turn over and snore directly into my ear? It’s fucking terrifying. I have been known to scream. And I have to tell you, this is a kind and gentle man. This is a man I waited a looooong time to meet. We met at 33, just as I was beginning to settle into the idea of being an independent lady adventurer and Aunty. When I say I waited a long time, well, it wasn’t so much waiting to meet a man, but to meet him. He’s patient, some would say long-suffering (LOL!!), loving and a great Daddy, best mate and loverrrrr.
BUT THE FUCKING SNORING.
Let me roll it to yaaaaa.
The thing is, he feels bad for snoring! And then I feel bad for complaining! We have this thing where I tap him on the shoulder and say “roll over”, and once he does it’s marginally quieter. And he’s pretty good really, although it must be uncomfortable for the poor man. It’s just sometimes one or both of us are properly knackered, and I might not tap so much as smack. And he might not just roll over so much as do this:
And then the snores start up again. He also has a special talent. He is gifted in the art of commencing a snore at the exact, precise point I’m about to fall asleep. This has the effect of making me almost shit the bed. And then he’s woken by me shouting. Nobody wins. We have two small kids, we both work from home. We are not rich. Life is great, life is shit, we’re just an ordinary couple trying to get it done. And we all know that when you’re tired, like new-born baby tired, because one of you has had the equivalent of someone shouting in her ear all night, and the other has been poked and prodded in return, getting anything done becomes extremely difficult.
The booting out.
So we came to a solution. Which is that pretty much every other night, he comes up for cuddles and shoots for more – sometimes he scores, mostly he bombs – and then he gets booted out (as he likes to call it). Off he goes to sleep in the spare room or in the kids’ lower bunk bed. I get the sweet, sweet relief of an unbroken night’s sleep and he does too. He doesn’t get pestered to turn over all night long and I don’t suffer hearing loss and heart failure. Everybody wins!
But lately I’ve been worrying that our bedroom is almost starting to turn into my bedroom. When you have small kids so much of your time is taken up with them and what they need – you can start to neglect your partner. You need all the small intimacies to remind you both that irritating as kids, life and the universe can be, you still love and have each other. And surely really sharing a bed is part of that? If he’s sleeping downstairs half the week, is that ok? Help me out my dear readers. Are we the only ones going through this? Does this happen to you all as well? Let me know if my anxiety is justified!! Thank you all so much. The End.