My bed
When my husband and I bought our bed, he gave me complete control at the mattress store. I chose a Stearns & Foster Luxury Reserve, and when people heard the price, they reacted exactly the way you’d expect.
“You spent how much?”
Well, people, I like to sleep.
I’ve heard some statistic that we spend a third of our lives in bed. Maybe it’s a third. Maybe it’s more. I don’t remember. I just know I wanted those hours to be comfortable.
That was ten years ago, and I still love this bed. If I could recommend one household purchase to splurge on, it would be the thing you spend thousands of hours lying on. I’ll cut corners in plenty of places. This isn’t one of them.
This bed has quietly witnessed almost everything.
It carried me through my third pregnancy, which reminded me that pregnancy at forty is not the same experience as pregnancy at twenty-eight. I had forgotten how physically demanding it was. Women have an incredible way of forgetting just enough to do it again.
It held me after my C-section when every movement felt impossible. It cradled endless nights with a baby who somehow managed to soak through her diaper, along with the postpartum sweats nobody adequately warns you about. Sick kids climbed into it. Fevers were monitored here. Movies were watched here. Tears were cried here.
If you looked closely, you’d probably find little reminders of an entire family being raised. A coffee stain. A mystery spot from years ago. Evidence that life actually happened here instead of in some perfectly staged catalog bedroom.
After my dad died, this bed became my refuge.
Beds don’t ask questions. They don’t rush you. They don’t tell you it’s time to move on. They simply hold you while the rest of the world keeps demanding things.
I have a perfectly nice desk from when I owned my company. It’s still here. But now that I’m a writer, this bed has somehow become my office.
I’ll open my laptop, work for a while, and then think, “Well… time for a nap.”
The commute is incredible.
I just slide over a couple of feet.
People still think it’s ridiculous to spend that much money on a mattress.
Maybe it is.
But after everything this bed has carried with me over the last decade, I don’t think about what it cost. I think about what it gave me.
Comfort isn’t always a luxury.
Sometimes it’s the one place in the world that asks absolutely nothing of you.
If this piece meant something to you, my tip jar is here for anyone who would like to offer a little extra support for my writing.
Thank you!!
Xx