I'm having an affair. It's sordid and naughty but not at all clandestine. In fact, my husband knows all about it. He downright hates it, but he's given in to my demands and lets me have my boyfriend. He even lets him share a bed with us... I never meant for it to happen. But I fell deeply and madly in love with my body pillow. It's sick and twisted, but it's true. And I blame it all on Liz.
When I first became prego, Liz told me if I did nothing else during the next ten months, I needed to get my ass down to Bed Bath & Beyond and buy a body pillow. I laughed. That naive, never been pregnant before laugh and asked her why on Earth I'd need such a thing. Just trust me on this. You're going to need it.
Ironically, it was my husband who bought BP for me. The first trimester was rough. I was constantly nauseous. Food was my enemy. And already plagued with neck problems before pregnancy, sleep became almost impossible. And the hubs wanted to be there for me. He was a true superstar. Was there anything he could do for me? Anything?
Well, you could get me a body pillow.
A body pillow. You know those really, really long pillows? Oh and by the way, I'm under strict orders from Liz to get it soon.
When he first brought BP home, I eyed him suspiciously. It was not love at first sight.
What am I supposed to do with it? It's bigger than I am! I cried to Liz.
Wrap your body around it. You'll figure it out. *Dial tone*
So I did. I wrapped my legs around it. Draped my arms over it and squeezed. And I fell into a deep, peaceful sleep (if you don't count the 7 times I got up to go to the bathroom.) The next morning, I discovered Matt clear on the other side of the bed, hanging onto the edge for dear life. The body pillow and I smack in the middle, blissfully in love.
That was the beginning of my husband's war with BP. And understandably so. I would never tolerate a life-sized piece of cotton stuffed with cotton stealing my husband from me. I can barely handle when, after weeks of watching me selfishly channel surf, he finally gets to pick the TV line up and hungrily fondles the remote.
I've since found BP shoved under the bed, coverless and naked shivering in the laundry room and suffocating between a pair of bed sheets in the hall closet. And even though I hate that my lover and my husband can't get along, I guess I can understand why. The hubs has taken a major backseat to BP...
At night, do I wrap my arms around my husband and cuddle close? Um, no. I reach for BP instead.
Guess who gets smacked in the face with BP every time I groggily fling him aside and amble out of bed to pee? (*Sorry honey for the time his zipper scratched your face*)
And when it comes to laundry, BP's cover goes straight to the front of the line. Even if that means the hubs has to wait to get his ONLY decent pair of athletic socks cleaned in time for his next flag football game. Play barefoot I say, because I have a hot date with a clean BP while you're out playing weekend warrior.
And even though BP could never replace my husband (well maybe on the very coldest of nights), I do cherish our time together. And I wonder if after my pregnancy is over, he'll still want me the way I'll still want him. Or will he move onto some other prego chick? *sigh* Maybe it will be for the best if he does dump me for another round-bellied bimbo. I'm not sure the hubs would let this "threesome" go on for very much longer anyway.