It all began when he cautiously expressed his feelings through computer messages. At first, he’d sign off with sweet notes like, “I adore the way you smile,” or “I cherish spending time with you.” Then, one day, he simply typed, “I love you.” Our tiny dorm rooms became our sanctuaries, filled with the sounds of Dave Matthews and Pearl Jam as we “studied” on those ridiculously uncomfortable twin beds. The only thing that mattered was ensuring one of our roommates was out of the room—being close, even in a cramped space, was worth every uncomfortable moment.
He graduated a year before me, and moved into a dark, walk-up apartment on Main Street in a sleepy town filled with similar homes and one dingy bar boasting decent chicken wings. Thankfully, we both upgraded to full-size beds after leaving dorm life behind. Still, the weekdays felt hollow without him by my side.
I spent the week counting down the hours until I could fill the void between us. Our weekends together felt like a glimpse into a potential life together. I attempted domesticity with home-cooked meals, trying to impress him with recipes like baked chicken and Campbell’s soup casserole. It felt like a gourmet feast compared to takeout or canned beans. He was kind enough to eat my culinary creations rather than heading out for wings, holding back his true feelings about baked meat for years.
Saying goodbye on Sundays was always tough. Insecurities crept in, and jealousy bubbled to the surface. Tearful goodbyes became routine. Maintaining our love from a distance required more trust, sacrifice, and compromise than the effortless joy we experienced when sharing a campus and those tiny twin beds. Now, when we were together in our full-size beds, we had to make the choice to cuddle or roll away from each other.
When Keith proposed to me on a beach in North Carolina the week before my graduation, saying yes was a no-brainer. I wanted to create a life together, sharing decisions and dreams. We tied the knot in 1999, with him as a first-year podiatry student and me stepping into my role as a brand-new teacher. Our college bed lingered with us for four more years until we bought our first house outside Atlanta when he started his residency. It was there that we finally opted for a queen-size bed, reveling in the newfound space that felt safe and secure—just like our marriage.
Being a couple meant sharing everything. Over the next five years, we painted walls, hung pictures, opened a joint bank account, and debated the merits of white versus colored lights on the Christmas tree. We alternated holidays with our families and celebrated some just the two of us—until we became three. When I discovered I was pregnant, we spent many nights in our bed, reading about the weekly developments of our baby. Those moments, with his hands resting on my growing belly, were my favorites.
We hoped to keep our bed as our sanctuary when our son arrived, trying co-sleepers, but he’d scream the moment we laid him down flat. We quickly realized our bed had become a battleground for sleep. I tried using a wedge pillow to prop him up, but it didn’t work. For the first three months, I slept on the couch, while Keith set up pillows around me after night feedings, hoping to keep the baby asleep.
When our second son arrived, the old full-size bed moved into the nursery, allowing Keith to get the sleep he needed for his patients. I ended up bouncing between beds for years. Our youngest didn’t sleep for more than five hours straight until he was five, which made for an exhausting time. Mornings often found me cramped due to a child sprawled across me, and I longed for the days of tangled limbs with my college sweetheart in that tiny dorm room.
But here’s the thing: you never truly revert to a twin-size bed. Instead, the bed expands. The physical distance grows with kids, responsibilities, and differing needs. After a decade of parenthood and over 20 years together, we finally upgraded to a king-size bed. I remember the first night—it felt like the best investment we ever made. I could stretch out, roll over, or sprawl in any position without touching him. It meant there was room for the kids to join us on stormy nights or lazy Sundays.
After spending more than half my life with my husband, I’ve learned that every day is an act of love. Marriage isn’t the security of a twin bed; it’s the choice to embrace each other, even in a king-sized space. The best part of my day is when we roll toward the center of the bed and share a kiss to greet the morning or say goodnight.
For more insights on parenting and family life, you can check out our other blog posts, including a helpful guide on home insemination. If you’re on a fertility journey, Make a Mom is a great resource. And for information on pregnancy, be sure to visit WomensHealth.gov.
Summary
This article reflects on the evolution of love and intimacy in a marriage, from college dorms to parenthood, highlighting how relationships grow and change over time. The journey from twin beds to a king-size bed symbolizes the expanding space that family and responsibilities create, yet the essence of love remains at the heart of every shared moment.