I am not a pregnant woman. Nor am I a was-pregnant woman. I am a not-at-all-pregnant man. I do, however, have the pleasure of sleeping next to a pregnant woman. Bambino-Madre incubates our Bambino. Bambino likes to fidget.
Pre-conception: Bambino-Madre was a hyper-mobile sleeper. Bambino-Madre’s squirminess had a majority stake in our bed. My nights were nights of careful position and balance, alert to the somno-shapes metronomically thrashed out from gloaming-to-dawn. Fond was I of the bed-sliver on which I lay, motionless, patiently waiting for a stray limb to the face, ruminating on the subject of Stockholm Syndrome. With body so fierce, the content of her docile mind was unimaginable to me. I liked to think she was the prophet of unprisonable rhythm. I feared she was the artist of ineludible violence. Ours was an inequitable relationship when it came to sleep-related real estate. If I’d tried to make it so I’d probably’ve been made dead. Unintentionally? Maybe. Maybe. Bambino-Madre is a shadow shy of five feet tall. I cower at much more than six.
Post-conception, twenty weeks in: With an unborn daughter jiggling and wriggling inside her, Bambino-Madre levelled up the squirm. Our bed: a theatre of peril, exhaustion and discomfort. Remedial attention was urgently brought and focused, the solution settled upon being the purchasing of this pillow.
Verdict, part one: Bambino-Madre is comfortable. Bambino-Madre is sleeping well. There is no squirm. There is no discomfort. There is only rejuvenating, restful, highest-quality, ZERO-MOTION sleep. Bambino-Madre is a catatonic, serene, happy heap. No peril. No fear. Space and sleep: all there is.
Reason enough to give it a full-house of stars. But wait.
Verdict, part two: (Scene-setting: The morning after the day of Pillow’s arrival.) Bambino-Madre scurried off to work, leaving me to doze. Pillow lay vacant, Bambino-Madre’s vestigial and inviting warmth radiating from within. In I clambered, to give Pillow a spin. This was the moment the whole world *really* changed.
I have slept poorly for at least sixteen years (I’m 33). There’ve been 200-hour periods that’ve involved fewer than 10 hours of sleep, total. Rarely do I sleep more than four hours a night. Shoulder and back pain are constant companions, due to injury, repeated injury, re-repeated injury, accidents and inattention. Sleeping has, for long periods of time, been difficult and very hard to come by.
Pillow, with exaggeration suspended and nonsense ended, presented me with the finest sleep I can remember. Pain free. Nadir to zenith. So, when I say ‘whole world *really* changed’, I *really* mean it. Course of action? BOUGHT MY OWN.
Pillow and Pillow Two have transformed the sleepings of a chronically sleep-deprived man and a desperately uncomfortable pregnant woman. Total cost? £46. I have given thought to the value of sleep over the years I’ve enjoyed very little of it. When compared to the ludicrous invented bargains I entertained, £46 is a theft. £4,600 would be a theft.
One problem: cocooned and barriered, our physical relationship is dead. We’re asleep anyway, so who cares.
The sum total of all positive human endeavour is equal to less than this pillow (any quality, any metric). This pillow is the greatest thing in the history of thing.