Have you heard of the “Snoogle,” a.k.a pregnancy body pillow a.k.a cushioned moat of no-love? It’s revered by pregnant women all over the land and probably despised by their partners. It wraps you in a warm embrace while simultaneously shoving your husband out of bed — and once you own one it is really hard to let go. Unfortunately, your partner will probably want their nighttime real estate back eventually, and once you have a baby there’s not really an excuse to keep this thing around.
Behold the Snoogle:
Look at it! LOOK AT IT! Have you ever seen anything so glorious? It’s as comfortable as it looks, it really is. But in case you have a California king-sized bed, it is really going to piss your partner off. Well, it especially is if you’re like me and the Snoogle isn’t quite enough to meet your needs. Look at the one I got:
It’s like the Snoogle on steroids. That’s not me, by the way. I don’t own any matching pajamas.
At about month seven in my first pregnancy I started to become miserable. My belly was growing and I had crazy sciatic nerve pain. Couple that with the fact that I’m one of those people who, when not pregnant, always sleeps on her stomach. Pregnancy sleep was hell for me. Enter, the Snoogle – or whatever this double-Snoogle monstrosity is called.
Not only did I sleep with it at night, I carried this monster around the house with me, positioned it on the couch, and sat on it like a throne. When the enormous box was delivered to our door and my husband had to carry it up to our third-floor walk up, I saw the immediate annoyance and confusion in his eyes; “What the fuck is this and why is it so light?” That was his initial response to the mystery box that contained the savior that would finally give me a good night’s sleep while slowly inching my husband out of his own bed.
Once the baby came, I was able to justify keeping this giant thing in our bed for a few weeks longer – thanks emergency surgery! But once I could walk around and rise out of bed without wincing, it became increasingly obvious that there was not room for this thing and my husband in my life anymore. Also, when your apartment is approximately 600 square feet — it’s a little absurd to own a pillow that takes up 100 of it.
But what was I supposed to do with it? I couldn’t put it on the curb – that seemed so cold. Craigslist? Trying to sell a pillow I’d had jammed between my crotch for six-months seemed gross. Did I mention this thing cost almost 70 dollars? I had no solution. I held onto it a little longer, half-hoping my husband would put it on the curb while I wasn’t home so I wouldn’t have to be the one abandoning it.
Then one night I had a friend over for wine. She had recently broken up with a long term boyfriend and we were commiserating – me about losing my freedom, her about losing her man. I had one of those railroad style apartments, so you had to walk through my bedroom to get to the bathroom. She excused herself, and a few seconds later I heard, “WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS THING?” I walked back to my room to see her nestled in my Snoogle’s warm embrace.
“Do you want it?” I asked.
“Of course!” She answered.
“Are you sure? How are you going to get it home? It takes up a lot of space you know. Are you sure you have room for it?” I was desperately trying to think of something that would render the Snoogle unappealing. It wasn’t working.
About an hour later, she called a cab and left with my Snoogle wrapped around her shoulders like a warm, heavy, intrusive friend. I half-expected the Snoogle to come to life and insist we not be parted. It didn’t happen. The Snoogle doesn’t care who it Snoogles with, apparently.
It’s still a little hard for me to look at images of that thing. Breaking up is hard to do.