I love our bed. It is a beautiful white brass bed, dressed in white cotton. It has a mattress topper and a goose down duvet. It has perfect pillows and a recently gifted electric blanket. It is pretty to look at and a feature in our bedroom. We bought the bed with wedding money many moons ago and along with my couch it is my favourite piece of furniture in our house.
Unfortunately with the ageing process and being married to a camera man comes the age-old illness of bad backs, and with that comes the talk of replacing our beautiful bed with a grown up divan bed. Aggghhh!!
I love my bed. I love it for so many reasons aside from the rendezvous I may have with my Monsieur.
I have had fits of giggles in our bed. I have had my most meaningful chats with the hubby there. I felt the first kick from Baby One lying in that bed. I have fed and cuddled both my babies there.
It’s where we gather and share birthday gifts and Mother’s Day and Father’s Day gifts. It’s where the monkeys come for comfort. It’s where I go for solitude. It’s where I go when I need a cry. It’s where I feel relaxed. It’s where I have my most favourite cup of tea. It’s where, we as a family, migrate in the mornings, all cosy and giddy and full of chat. It’s where I feel safe. It is full of memories and sentiments.
I loath the thought of changing our bed but then the compromise is a happy husband. Perhaps it is not the bed but the symbol of the bed that I cherish. We share our couch and our dining table with everyone who comes through our front door but our bedroom is a sanctuary that only us four share. It is our little private oasis hidden from the rest of the world.