It began with tentative messages exchanged over the computer. Mark started with sweet notes, saying things like, “I adore the way you smile,” or “I cherish our time together.” Then one day, he boldly typed, “I love you.” Our days were filled with stolen moments in our cramped dorm rooms, listening to our favorite bands while we pretended to study on those uncomfortable twin beds. The only concern was avoiding our roommates; being close, even while squeezed together, was worth the struggle.
Mark graduated a year before me and moved into a small, dimly lit apartment on Main Street, surrounded by similar row houses and a bar that served decent chicken wings. With our new living situations, we upgraded to full-size beds, but those midweek separations left me feeling empty. I counted the days until we could be together again. Weekend visits felt like glimpses of our future life, where I tried to impress him with home-cooked meals, including my famous baked chicken and Campbell’s soup casserole. He graciously ate my efforts, never mentioning how much he disliked baked meat.
Sundays were challenging, filled with tearful goodbyes and creeping insecurities. Maintaining our love across the distance required trust, sacrifice, and compromise, unlike the effortless connection we shared back in our dorm. Now, we had the option to cuddle or turn away in our larger bed.
When Mark proposed on a North Carolina beach just before I graduated, saying yes felt like the most natural decision. We were ready to become “us.” We tied the knot in 1999, with Mark in his first year of podiatry school and me stepping into my teaching career. Our college bed remained with us for four more years until we bought our first house near Atlanta, where we finally opted for a queen-size bed. The extra space felt comforting, allowing us to enjoy our new marriage.
Being a couple brought a sense of security. We shared everything, from choosing wall colors to managing our finances and celebrating holidays, sometimes just the two of us. That all changed when I discovered I was pregnant. As we lay in bed, we read about our baby’s growth, dreaming about our future as parents.
We attempted to keep our bed as our sanctuary by using a co-sleeper, but our son had different plans—he screamed every time we laid him down flat. We quickly realized our bed was now a battlefield for sleep. I spent countless nights on the couch, propped up by pillows, while Mark took the bed. Our old full-size bed eventually moved to the nursery when our second son arrived, making way for Mark’s need for uninterrupted sleep.
For years, I shuffled between beds, longing for the days when I would wake up with my college boyfriend tangled up beside me. Parenting brought challenges that widened the physical and emotional spaces between us, yet we never returned to those twin-sized confines. After a decade of parenthood and over twenty years together, we finally bought a king-size bed. The first night in it felt transformative. I could stretch out freely, not touching anyone, yet still invite the kids in on lazy mornings or stormy nights.
Now, after spending more than half my life with Mark, I understand that love is a daily choice. Marriage is not synonymous with security, just as a twin bed isn’t comfortable. However, the best part of my day remains when we roll towards the center of our king-size bed to share a kiss, greeting each other with love in the morning and night.
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In summary, the evolution of our bed reflects the stages of our relationship—from cramped dorm rooms to a comfortable king-size bed, symbolizing the love, challenges, and choices that shape our journey as a couple and parents.