We're like a sitcom family ... from the 1950s

I kicked Judybat out of bed this evening. No, we didn't have a fight. Or at least, not one that's any more serious than the usual "Why did you leave your dirty socks on the kitchen table?" and "Um, I don't know," squabble.

I just decided that one of us needs to sleep through the night, and it makes more sense for the person who's not attached to TheGirl at the teat to do the snoring. It's worked, except for a brief instance last night when TheBoy's screaming woke Judybat. (She was upstairs, and I was just one room away from him. So apparently I'm only trained to hear TheGirl's peeping.)

The experience has revealed an unsettling truth: We both sleep better when we're flying solo in the sack. We're like some 1950s sitcom family, except for the whole girl-girl thing and the lack of neatly pressed pajamas.

I'm not sure how much longer this will last, however. I miss my drooling, snoring, bed-hogging other half.