Can't sleep, clown'll eat me...
A pregnant woman is entitled to a lot of special treatment from her husband; foot rubs, back rubs, and reduced teasing are all fair game. Now when you start talking about women who are pregnant with multiples, those women are entitled to special treatment, expensive gifts, and pretty much anything else they need to survive, and with minimal complaining on the husband’s part. In our case, this means Ellie gets a new bed.
Can we afford to buy a new bed? Not really, but the appropriate question to ask should be “can we afford not not to buy a new bed?” As the primary (only) source of income in our household, we need her to work for as long as possible to keep those big residency bucks flowing in so we can purchase necessary baby items like bouncers and garage sale clothing. Ideally, we’ll have Ellie work right up until the start of her planned maternity leave, working during the day and entering the hospital for an induction (not a c-section, we’re thinking positive here) that same night. For this plan to work, Ellie needs to stay healthy and away from afflictions with names that even sound painful, like sciatica, for as long as possible. A bed should be the place for her to recover from those grueling 36-hour workdays, caressing away the round ligament pain. Our bed is not one of those places. It has springs of assorted softness, from the kind that caresses to the kind that angrily pokes back when we dare ask it to support out weight. When an angry spring jabs me in the arm, I simply roll to the side, taking the covers with me if need be. Ellie, hindered by the presence of the parasites and their support system, is significantly less mobile than normal and therefore more susceptible to the proddings of the angry springs.
Our current mattress isn’t very old, no more than eight years. Ellie believes we ruined it by resting it on top of box springs that are older than her, and could potentially be old enough to provide the earliest evidence of man’s understanding of the concept of a box. She found the mattress heavily discounted back in college, and when a college student has the choice between blowing enough money on new box springs to buy 56 one-topping pizzas or using old box springs made in a time when springs were still mostly a theoretical concept, the choice is obvious: You splurge on two-topping pizzas.
Off we went to find a replacement for Old Pokey. We checked the area’s major furniture stores and discovered that when all of the used car lots transformed into classier pre-owned car lots, their old salespeople needed new jobs selling things, which the furniture stores were happy to provide. We made many new friends who each assured us that they were the only ones telling us the truth. We also discovered the law mandating that all mattress companies must begin their names with an “S.” There’s Sealy, Serta, Simmons, Stearns & Foster, Spring Air, and Tempur-Pedic, which doesn’t technically begin with an “S,” but they’re Swedish, which does begin with an “S.”
After we verified that they all wanted too much money, we lowered our standards down to the furniture outlet stores. These people were also happy to see us, though not in an “Oh boy, I can make a commission off these suckers” way. It was more of a “Maybe these people will help us make room for those slightly moist mattresses Sears is trucking in today” way. We found a few mattresses at a reasonable price and with minimal odor, though one of those mattresses was encased in plastic making the odor difficult to discern.
Not satisfied, we continued lowering our standards down to a consignment store. This place had much of the merchandise that the outlet stores decided they were too good to display. We didn’t find any mattresses of acceptable plushness, though we did find a few suitable sparring partners for Old Pokey if he ever wants to work out some aggression. When Ellie decided it was time to leave the consignment store, we left without any complaining or coercion to buy something from me, because that’s what the mother of my children deserves. Then we stopped at the grocery store to pick up some potato chips for supper, because that’s also what she deserves. Someday soon we may even pick up a bed for her.
Can we afford to buy a new bed? Not really, but the appropriate question to ask should be “can we afford not not to buy a new bed?” As the primary (only) source of income in our household, we need her to work for as long as possible to keep those big residency bucks flowing in so we can purchase necessary baby items like bouncers and garage sale clothing. Ideally, we’ll have Ellie work right up until the start of her planned maternity leave, working during the day and entering the hospital for an induction (not a c-section, we’re thinking positive here) that same night. For this plan to work, Ellie needs to stay healthy and away from afflictions with names that even sound painful, like sciatica, for as long as possible. A bed should be the place for her to recover from those grueling 36-hour workdays, caressing away the round ligament pain. Our bed is not one of those places. It has springs of assorted softness, from the kind that caresses to the kind that angrily pokes back when we dare ask it to support out weight. When an angry spring jabs me in the arm, I simply roll to the side, taking the covers with me if need be. Ellie, hindered by the presence of the parasites and their support system, is significantly less mobile than normal and therefore more susceptible to the proddings of the angry springs.
Our current mattress isn’t very old, no more than eight years. Ellie believes we ruined it by resting it on top of box springs that are older than her, and could potentially be old enough to provide the earliest evidence of man’s understanding of the concept of a box. She found the mattress heavily discounted back in college, and when a college student has the choice between blowing enough money on new box springs to buy 56 one-topping pizzas or using old box springs made in a time when springs were still mostly a theoretical concept, the choice is obvious: You splurge on two-topping pizzas.
Off we went to find a replacement for Old Pokey. We checked the area’s major furniture stores and discovered that when all of the used car lots transformed into classier pre-owned car lots, their old salespeople needed new jobs selling things, which the furniture stores were happy to provide. We made many new friends who each assured us that they were the only ones telling us the truth. We also discovered the law mandating that all mattress companies must begin their names with an “S.” There’s Sealy, Serta, Simmons, Stearns & Foster, Spring Air, and Tempur-Pedic, which doesn’t technically begin with an “S,” but they’re Swedish, which does begin with an “S.”
After we verified that they all wanted too much money, we lowered our standards down to the furniture outlet stores. These people were also happy to see us, though not in an “Oh boy, I can make a commission off these suckers” way. It was more of a “Maybe these people will help us make room for those slightly moist mattresses Sears is trucking in today” way. We found a few mattresses at a reasonable price and with minimal odor, though one of those mattresses was encased in plastic making the odor difficult to discern.
Not satisfied, we continued lowering our standards down to a consignment store. This place had much of the merchandise that the outlet stores decided they were too good to display. We didn’t find any mattresses of acceptable plushness, though we did find a few suitable sparring partners for Old Pokey if he ever wants to work out some aggression. When Ellie decided it was time to leave the consignment store, we left without any complaining or coercion to buy something from me, because that’s what the mother of my children deserves. Then we stopped at the grocery store to pick up some potato chips for supper, because that’s also what she deserves. Someday soon we may even pick up a bed for her.
posted by Matt at
9:26 PM
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