A bed to myself

I’m traveling for work this week. I’m staying in a hotel. I get to have a whole bed to myself.

I have a bed to myself.

I’m not kept awake by my husband’s snoring. I don’t have to deal with one (or both) of my children whining to sleep in my bed only to reward my acquiescence by squirming and kicking and rolling until I am clinging to a sliver at the edge of my own bed in hopes of not to be pushed off by someone a quarter of my weight.

I have a bed to myself.

I slept on what is normally my husband’s side because that’s where the electrical outlet is for charging my phone. It felt wrong.

I have a bed to myself.

I sleep soundly, then I wake up alone. There is no one to snuggle with as I procrastinate getting up. There is no one to kiss or to say “good morning” to.

I have a bed to myself.

I leave tomorrow. I hope to enjoy one more night of undisturbed sleep in a bed of my own. Then, I will wake up and dream of going home.

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