At one point in time I bought a maternity pillow to help with my many sleepless nights. It didn’t really help my last three months of pregnancy because I was the size of a small two-legged whale. However, now it’s mainly used for biology hates me monthly visitor.
This mornings 5 am greetings were luxury of my 10-year-old, yelling at his teammates in Minecraft about blowing up his house and how they better put it back. Why is he up at 5 am anyway? He went to bed at 9 pm. I yelled at him and quickly went back to bed.
The sun was gracefully peaking through my closed blinds, and I still hear my 10-year-old yelling at his teammates to stop killing him. I roll over to glance at the television and it’s only 6:15 am. I stare at the ceiling fuming at the fact that he’s still awake and loud. I yell once more and threaten to burn his PlayStation if he doesn’t go to bed. He begrudgingly agrees, turns off his PlayStation, climbing into his top bunk.
My eyes aren’t even fully closed when I hear him creep down his ladder, as quiet loud as possible. Does he think he’s being quiet? Sneaky? Or both?
“Kai!” As I’m staring at my ceiling wrapped up in my maternity pillow.
Silence filled upstairs. Maybe it was our fat cat I heard making all that noise in his room. I mean, it’s possible, she is the size of a small dog. So I yell one more time and silence answered. I shrugged, rolled back over, covered my face with my blanket and blackness. Not even ten minutes passed when I hear his PlayStation beep to life.
“Kai! If you don’t get your butt back in bed!”
I hear the creaking and clanking of him climbing his ladder back to bed. I glance over at the TV and in big white letters screams 6:32 am. I lay my hand to my forehead angrily and try to go back to sleep. I kept tossing and turning trying to get comfortable, while my maternity pillow kept inching itself closer and closer to my face.
I shoved it down and buried it under my head, scolding it for not staying where I originally put it, and close my eyes. Not even an hour later little miss mosh pit is up to her morning antics, headbanding, screeching away. Eyes open, I stare at my ceiling, upset that the last few hours of my nightly sleep was spent yelling at my 10-year-old and fighting my maternity pillow.
I go to get out of bed and what was supposed to be a simple roll over, turned into a desperate fight for life at 7:20 in the morning. I throw the blanket over on my husband and my legs were entangled in the maternity pillow. It refused to let them go. I began to kick and worm myself free of the four leaf clover checkmate I was in. With every kick the leg lock became tighter.
Breathing heavily, I paused to assess the situation I found myself in. My knees and ankles screaming for relief. My maternity pillow mocking me at every struggle. Again, I began kicking, flailing my arms in hopes that it would free my legs. Do so only made the pillows grasp even tighter on my legs, while moving itself closer and closer to my neck.
It saw its opening, and struck; wrapping itself tightly around my neck. Frozen in panic, my breath slowly left my body. I lay there staring at the ceiling, mustering one last hoorah to free myself from the pillows tightening grip on my body.
With one big heave ho, I launched myself off my bed and onto the floor. The hard plush carpet cushioning my fall. The ceiling laughing at me as my eyes greet its poorly manufactured design and repair. My daughter laughing maniacally at the events that unfolded in front of her young eyes.
With one large held breath I kick the suffocating maternity pillow off me and watch as it flies at my still sleeping husband. I continued to stare at the ceiling, wondering what the rest of the day would have in store for me. All while debating on whether or not I should burn the once purposeful homicidal maternity pillow and laugh as it screams in my flames of hatred.