Metal Meredith

Phil and I have had the same queen sized bed for about 7 years now. Shortly before Henry was born, we were in bed one Sunday morning when Vivienne climbed in and proceeded to take up 50% of the space. We then realized that we would need to upgrade in order to fit 4 of us on those lazy Sunday mornings.

Before:

Our old bed became like a giant, crooked canoe. Phil, who snoring sometimes can sound like road repair, sleeps on the side and I sleep right next to him so he doesn’t roll over. Our poor bed paid the price for that. We found a super new bed frame and mattress on Craigslist for cheap cheap cheap!!

It only took us 30 minutes to set up the bed. However, it took us about an hour to get the mattress up the stairs. When it landed on the bed frame, we both collapsed and ‘ooohed’ and ‘ahhhhed’ at the comfort. I brought out my super, new, fancy sheets and my fluffier than fluffy new duvet and we slept like logs.

New Bed:

Last night, about 4am, nature called. When I was coming back into the room, I slammed my little toe into the corner of the bed frame at full force. I cussed, hopped a few times and collapsed into bed. I groaned, rolled back and forth and tried my best to ignore the throbbing. Except I noticed that my foot was wet. Super.

I hobbled into the bathroom where I bled all over the rug and floor. I grabbed a wash cloth and hopped back into the bedroom where I had to wake a dead-to-the-world Phil and ask him to dress my wounds. My husband is wonderful in the fact that there was not one moan, heavy sigh or bitchy comment to me waking him up at 4am. It felt like I had hit my toe with a hammer. But in reality, I only split my toenail about 3/4 of the way down.

Seriously, I love the bed to death. Why does it have to try and kill me? Phil suggested those lights found on airplane isles to help us see where the bed is. I think I need to wear steel toed shoes back and forth to the bathroom from now on.