I’ve recently become accustomed to waking up in the middle of the night, at least once, if not more, to use the facilities.
Last night was no exception – after tossing and turning and trying to ignore the onslaught of bladder tension … I got up.
Now you have to know how our bedroom is set up to know the obstacle I face every time I get out of bed. I sleep next to the windows, farthest away from the door – and there’s about 16 inches between our bed and the door. AND THEN Aaron has the fan set up right at the edge of the bed, between the wall and the bed. I know, he’s the smart one.
So I have to untangled myself from the covers, pillows and my blanket (yeah, I still have a blanket, leave me alone.) Then I have to set myself right side up, and as fun as it is to see a pregnant person grunt and squirm in discomfort, it’s not nice to laugh. You should help us, you have bendable limbs without swelling and your abdomen isn’t a pseudo-space-command for babies.
Then I have to walk between the bed and wall, climb over the fan and make the small turn towards the door. I’m home free. I’m almost there, all I have to do is get past the doorway, into the hallway and there’s the bathroom.
I’m rounding the bed frame, enroute to the door and thinking how proud I am that I don’t have to turn on the light to see where I’m going. Plus, I’m being so quiet, I don’t think Aaron even knows I’m up. Man I’m getting good at this.
Thats about when I walked right into the door. Yeah, uh huh … I smashed my head against it, which caused it to slam shut, and because inertia isn’t any pregnany womens friend – my body followed the leader right into the door as well. After rebounding off my belly and reassuring Aaron that the house wasn’t falling and I was OK – I finally got to go to the bathroom.