We are a two bed household. Not the '50s Good Catholic throwback two bed household with two single beds right next to one another, leading nosey guests to wonder which bed is for babymaking. Rather, we are a two bed household with one bed that we sleep on and one bed that our guests sleep on when they delight us with their company for a weekend or more.

The guest bed was gifted to us by a good churchie, whose generosity is generally unmatched. It is one year-old. It is from IKEA and is a commodious queen. The frame is blond wood which matches the rest of our furniture. Ahh, but the mattress. The mattress reminds me of curling up on a large, level plateau of dense tiramisu, iced with marshmallow creme. It is delicious.

The bed on which we sleep was purchased seven years ago through 1-800-MATTRESS. It has no headboard, nor baseboard, nor anything that would make it look like it is a charming "place" to sleep. The double mattress is suspended off the ground by a metal frame that is portable enough to fold up and be mistaken for tent stakes. Oh, and the frame has wheels so that if one person is already sleeping in the bed and another person is climbing in the opposite side, a small nudge typically interrupts the slumberer from her date with the Sandman. The mattress needs to be flipped periodically because of all of the strange rivulets and dips wrought over time. The double bed cannot be likened to the experience of sleeping on top of a dessert. Unless, perhaps, it is a bundt cake.

Lately, I am inclined to take my swollen ankles, my charlie horses, my rotund belly which feels the small boxing gloves from within more acutely these days, and my peanut bladder into the guest room to resign for a night's nap. Lovey Loverpants follows because there is room enough for two to sleep comfortably, and for two-and-a-half to sleep moderately comfortably. And yet, we spend much of the night adjusting to the different noises and alternating for climate control since the guest bed may as well be a hemisphere away from our room. By the morning, we are stupefied as to why we are still tired, having slept on tiramisu all night without ever our two starfish appendages touching.

The other night, Lovey made a furtive plea that we both sleep in "our bed" tonight.

"I just don't like the guest bed as much. You know why? Because I feel so far from you. I wake up in the middle of the night and I don't know where you are."

And for all of the nights spent sleeping in our bed with an elbow in my rib and waking up to my hand gone numb under a neck, there is a reason why our bed is our bed and not the guest bed. There is room to extend our accommodations for guests, but there is no need to be generous about the space that we share in sleep. Even in our sleep, we can feel distance, and we can get lost. Nothing like reaching out a hand to find another that brings you back and reminds you of where you are, even in the dark.