I generally make the bed after my husband leaves in the morning and unmake it by climbing into it before he gets to bed at night. I make the bed completely for me. For my mental health. For my enjoyment. It is a soothing morning ritual that makes my heart happy and sets a peaceful tone for the day. No matter what else happens during the day, whatever unexpected messiness (both literal and figurative) life throws my way, I know that I have this one small thing accomplished. There is a tiny corner of my world that is orderly, tidy, organized, harmonious and beautiful. This is a space that welcomes warm kittens and a cuddly infant to snuggle up on top of the covers with a picture book while the sun shines in through the window. This is a safe space. A loving space.
This is the place where I spent my last trimester of pregnancy. The space that gently enveloped my body as it allowed Willow to safely grow and develop. Once per week during my bedrest stint, a sweet and caring girlfriend helped to change the sheets and make the bed so that I could feel fresh and clean. This ritual was something I looked forward to each week, and it was a blessing to have someone who understood the significance of such a small act.
I thought that I would resent or dislike my bed after Willow was safely delivered and I was free to be mobile. As it turns out, I love it more than I ever could have imagined… especially when it holds the people and animals I love.