Rotisserie Chicken

This looks delicious. Probably because I didn't have to cook it nor do I have to clean up the mess afterwards. Unfortunately, this story isn't actually about this fine specimen of roasted hen. It's about me.

Like most third trimester pregnant women, I don't sleep all that well at night. I gave up blankets and sheets about 2 months ago. Poor Alex has had the distinct pleasure of sleeping through the tail end of winter and early spring in a house that is a cool 69-70˚F. In my defense, if there is any, I am not only sharing my internal space with another creature, but the bed with my 220 pound husband and a 6.5 foot long, 140 pound Great Dane. Imagine lying on your side of the bed. Now curl up your legs into a sitting position. Place a stretched out dog under your bottom like he's the chair. Now add said husband to the other side of the bed. Make sure that he's clearly on his side of the bed. Please, no touching. You're far to irritated for that. Need to stretch out? The husband has unquestionably boxed you out so you're forced to drape your top leg over the backside of a massive and now snoring dog. Between your natural internal core temperature that rivals molten lava and the heat given off by the two Coppertop batteries lying next to you, the room is now a toasty 75˚F. After about an hour, I give up and kick the dog off the bed. He has his own bed after all. Complete with clean sheets and matching curtains.

But this is only half of it. Here is how the rest of the night goes. I fall asleep on my left hand side. My left arm is under my pillow stretched up toward the headboard. The other arm is wrapped around a pillow that helps to prop me up. I fall asleep. An hour and a half later, I wake up to find that my left arm and hand are painfully asleep. So I flip onto my back. That works for about 10 minutes until my kidneys feel like they've been squished paper thin. I then roll to my right side and assume the same beginning position (arm up, pillow propped) for another hour and a half. I wake up to painful zombie arm, flip to kidney squish, and rotate back to starting position. Repeat this action ALL NIGHT LONG. Don't forget to add in bathroom checks every 3 to 4 hours.

It's also worth mentioning that it's very difficult to climb over ones self. I'm not huge, mind you. I can still tie my shoes (with 36 days to go) and bend over without tipping over. But shifting a sleeping being encased in its own watery habitat isn't easy. Try sleeping with a 10 pound aquarium strapped to your stomach one night and we might be on the same page.

So now that you have all the background needed, I will proceed with my tale. On one particularly molten hot lava night, I felt like I was flipping every 30 minutes. It dawned on me this must be what a Rotisserie chicken must feel like.

So I say this out loud, "I'm tired of feeling like a Rotisserie chicken!" It's probably 4 am.

"Who's eating chicken?," peacefully sleeping husband inquires.

"NO! I'm the chicken!" I exclaim in desperation, followed by a helpless sigh.

"Please go back to sleep." As if this is a simple command that can be simply executed.

I will. Soon. Don't worry. I'm hoping for a full night sleep in about 20 years.