When we were camping, we slept in our respective sleeping bags on the opposite sides of the other than we did at home.  Nick, a notorious foot-shover and personal space-preserver, was very cuddly during those times.  I found myself cuddled off my pillow and into the side of the tent on more than one occasion.  When we returned home, Nick mentioned his camping cuddliness and explained it was because he was sleeping on the correct side of me!  yayyyy!  These previous six months where I’ve been training myself to not cuddle in my sleep and not to cuddle before going to sleep or upon awaking were mistaken!  I didn’t have to do all that, I just had to trade him sides of the bed!  Great.

This wouldn’t be something I’m against, as a general rule, but in the weeks preceding camping my random zombie fear took on some pretty epic proportions, to wit I had to stare out the door of our room every night to make sure I hadn’t seen anything move.  Also, I’d wake up twice a night, at 2:30am and 4:30am or thereabouts, and I’d have to watch the doorway then, too.  With such fears in effect, how could I switch sides and be on the side closest to the door?  They’d get to me first. Eventually, Nick and I talked my phobias down to normal size, and while he was at work the next day I switched our pillows and bedside cabinets, moved and reset the alarm clock.

When he got home that afternoon and went in to change out of his work clothes, I asked if he noticed anything different.

“uh. . . you vacuumed? ”

He’s been cuddling me nightly and sleeping like a rock ever since.  It’s freaking me out.