I used to hate making my bed. It seemed like such a waste of time. Why would I make something look nice that I wasn’t even going to see all day, only to come home that night and mess it up again? It wasn’t like someone else was going to be standing in my room at two o’clock in the afternoon, wondering why the bed was unmade and the sheets were on the floor. If it saved me time the morning that could be translated into a few extra minutes of sleep, I was all for leaving the bed a mess.
But, then, something changed. I started making my bed more regularly once we moved in to our current home and bought a real adult bed with real adult sheets and a real adult headboard, handmade by my husband. It wasn’t everyday, but in the morning I would pull the covers up, arrange the pillows, and put the throw back on the end of the bed before heading off to work.
All of this was pre-baby. Pre-Jackson. Pre-world of hospitals and sleepless nights, before that feeling of mental and physical exhaustion became more of the norm than it had been in the past.
It would have been easy to abandon my new routine for those few extra minutes of sleep.
But, for some reason, I started making our bed more. Every single morning more. On the days I woke up with energy to spare, I made our bed before getting ready to leave. On the days I overslept and had to settle for a ponytail instead of brushing my hair, I made our bed quickly, compromising that the pillows weren’t perfect and the sheets were a bit crumpled. And, on the days Jackson was scheduled for surgery or we were called down there in an emergency before the sun was even up, I made our bed through tears and worry, grabbing on to what I knew would be the only normal part of our day.
It wasn’t until Jackson came along that I realized that making our bed had nothing to do with how clean our room looked or whether or not the dog would appreciate the sheets being just so during the day (she doesn’t, by the way – she would much rather sleep under the unmade covers). It was about creating a routine, putting a piece of normal life into our otherwise whirlwind of pregnancy and parenthood. It was a way for me to feel in control of one, small detail when everything else felt like it was out of my hands.
Jackson is doing better, having his good days and his bad. We landed ourselves, unfortunately, back in the ICU last week but are pushing to make progress toward home. Still, every morning, I make our bed in preparation for the day, grabbing on to the hope that the little bit of control I have can continue through to my time in the hospital.