Oh trust me, I'm well aware of the fact. When you have the build of a linebacker, including a giant resonating chamber, sometimes silence is just not an option. However, it definitely follows certain patterns: congestion adds to the problem, as does alcohol, as do the extra 5 to 10 pounds I trade on and off when I'm happy and spending more time watching HGTV with my sweetie instead of walking like I should. Breathing through my nose (sometimes with the aid of BreatheRight strips) while side-sleeping in a fetal position helps quiet the beast.
So it's not a chronic problem, but when it happens, it means a less-than-ideal night's sleep for TFMD. And I feel really bad when those nights occur. But before you pity the poor girl too much, let me mention how she unconsciously gets her revenge...
First, there's the marathon running. I don't know what she's dreaming about, but there's a lot of travel involved. Her legs go on extended strolls in place, and it's difficult not to imagine all sorts of cinematic possibilities. I'll bet she's running from vampires. Or ninja. Or ninja vampires.
There's the vocalizations, of which I too am guilty. It'll usually be a body shift and a sigh, or the last part of a conversation. Dane Cook has a funny routine on this very subject. But honestly, the sighing and half sentences are pretty cute and not nearly as disruptive as my impersonation of Mount Vesuvius erupting.
It's when she punches me in her sleep that kinda throws a damper on a restful night. Last night in fact, it was the trifecta: escape from the ninja vampires, roll over and poke... pokepoke in the arm, sigh, humph, scoot scoot, rinse and repeat.
It's ever so amusing when we trade habits as well. Sometimes she'll snore, and I'll flee the ninja vampires. Once I actually elbowed her in the eye (didn't live that one down for a couple weeks). I'm sure we both occasionally question whether the spooning is worth it.
But learning (and putting up with) each other's sleep acrobatics (or sleeprobatics) is part of any long-term relationship. Whether snoring the house down, fighting ninja vampires or sleep boxing one's partner, it's all part of the greater whole (heh... he said "greater hole"). It's all part of what our therapist calls The Dance. So she wears earplugs and I give her plenty of sprawling space. And we go merrily on.
Yessir. That's love.