It’s that time of year where my darling husband gets to find ways to celebrate Valentine’s Day, our wedding anniversary, and my birthday over a two week period. For my part, I’m letting the internet into our bedroom. Thanks for understanding, babe!

Thomas and I returned home from our honeymoon on my 37th birthday (having met exactly 13 months prior to our wedding day). While I spent many makeout-less years hoping to meet Mr. Right, I now know that my twenty-something self really wasn’t ready for him. There’s a lot to say for meeting your true love later than average. The only real cons I’ve confronted are 1) wishing we had more time together and 2) learning to share my space. On the latter, let’s face it — the older you are, the more set in your ways you become. I’m someone who started out life high strung.

Thank the Lord that Thomas really lets me do my thing when it comes to decorating the home (including that one time he let me reupholster his bachelor pad leather Barcelona chairs in Beata Heuman’s Marbleized Velvet), but he did have a few requirements when it came to the bedroom. Tonight, I’m telling all on the design sacrifices made for my number one, ranked in descending order of heartache.

Nixing a Footboard Forever

I know, I know, cry me a river that my husband is 6’5” (blue eyes). But the man is longer than a mattress and that has cons not advertised in Girl on Couch’s viral TikTok. Namely, he has to be able to flop his feet off the end of the bed. [Can you even imagine sleeping this way? I’m getting airplane-swollen ankles just thinking about it.] To start, I had to upgrade my queen-sized mattress — something I’m not noting as a compromise due to the increased comfort while sleeping with a huge man and a medium-size dog, despite the fact that I find this oversized item less-than-ideal aesthetically. But, I also had to give up footboards until death due us part. Shot to the heart. There’s so many reasons I prefer a footboard profile on a bed, not least of which is how it tidies up the end-of-bed appearance without military-precision folds or perfectly crisp sheets.

Losing all My Beloved Bedding Layers

Left to my own devices, over my fitted sheet I prefer a flat sheet and a coverlet (if not also a blanket between the flat sheet and coverlet) tucked tightly under my mattress, with a duvet folded at the foot. In my singleton days I set my room temperature to 68 degrees, folded down one corner of my bed, nuzzled into an origami-style cocoon, pulled my duvet up, and felt the comforting weight of being wrapped in a thousand threads for a peaceful slumber. I would wake up and simply tuck in the top of one side of my sheets, fold my duvet, and be on my way. How my life has changed! Piggy backing on the previous concession, Thomas’ feet need room to roam, so he has to untuck any tucked in sheets or blankets. The morning bed-making routine was completely unsustainable and he let me know his strong preference for sleeping under a single duvet. I gave into the sole always-visibly-wrinkled-after-a-single-night’s-sleep duvet situation and cranked the thermostat up. Sleeping this way is more European they say, as if that’s supposed to make it better?

Pairing Down the Decorative Pillows

As a decade-long pillow peddler I’ve witnessed too many husband-wife shopping squabbles over the number of pillows on the bed. It took one comment from Thomas for me to trade in my trio of dec pillows for a single long lumber. I’m ok with this change (though I’m currently hunting for a different cushion).

Living with a Larger than Life Television

When I met Thomas I didn’t own a TV. Since college, I only owned one briefly when requested by another extra tall boyfriend named Tommy [I swear that this is an awkward coincidence and I don’t have a type]. And I heard — maybe true? — that a TV in the bedroom was a romance killer. Now, not only do I have what feels like a king bed-sized TV in our living room, another TV (though small) in our kitchen, but also an undeniably huge TV in the bedroom. This is an eyesore and I’ve contemplated finding ways to conceal it innumerable times. But, at the end of the day, whether breastfeeding our daughter for hours upon hours or enjoying a sitcom together (too exhausted from toddler parentdom to do more), it’s been a value-add feature overall.

Looking in the Mirror

Of course, this is written from my perspective and when my pro-bono editor heard my idea for this post, he was quick to remind me that he has made some comprises, too. The unspoken obvious item being that he lives with me (the harder lined, hotter tempered spouse). “You compromised on the canopy,” I gave him. When I told Thomas I had to have a canopy bed he was confused. He didn’t get the appeal and insisted that if we have one, it needed to close, not just have a crown. Otherwise, he really didn’t understand the point. “What else do you see as your big concessions?" I asked. A long pause followed and then he pointed out that being dogless — his bachelor status — was an intentional choice. [Sorry Nonna! Harsh, but I know you’ll never read this.] As the early morning and end of day dog walker, he gets real points here. As mentioned, he also shares our bed with the pooch. But let the record show that when we met he had a pillow in his home that read, Life is better with a dog. You’re welcome, honey 😘!

Learning to Let Go or DIY

I’m sure I’ve sent some eyes rolling and stomach turning professing my undying love for tall Tom. But the truth is he’s proven incredibly easy and wonderful to be married to for the last nearly-four years. To me, he’s pretty perfect. So I say this with a lot of love and in an effort to keep it real: the man is messy. Knowing how his things pile up and get lost, I made sure to have loads of bedside and bedroom desk storage and organization. But still part of my morning routine is picking up his clothes off the floor, closing his drawers, and not letting my eyes linger too long on the two three-feet-high stacks of books next to empty mugs and crumpled receipts and golf tees and keys and tangled earphones and empty popcorn bowls that perpetually litter his bedside table. Whenever I get annoyed at the mess, I intentionally remind myself of all that he does for me and our family and all of his many good qualities. I tell myself how lucky I am that this is what gets under my skin, that I get to clean up after him. Isn’t it true after all? More, I know he puts up with a larger load of BS from me. While we were engaged my nearly-ten-years-younger and many-years-wiser cousin Margaret told me, “It’s not 50-50; it’s 100-100. Both partners have to give 100 percent.” Best relationship advice I’ve ever received.

With that, goodnight and good luck!