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By January Gordon Ornellas

My husband, Steve, and I have 11 pillows on our bed right now.

Once upon a time, we had two pillows.

This is my pillow.

That is your pillow.

Good night.

Those were simpler times.

Over time, the pillows multiplied.

Two turned into four, and four into eight, and so on.

It was like Noah’s Ark, with fertile pillows.

At one point I thought maybe I should thin the pillow herd, but thank goodness I didn’t.

I have since discovered that I require no less than nine pillows for a good night’s sleep.

Obviously, I need one pillow on which to rest my weary head. 

This is my “Weary Head Pillow.”

Except since I have heartburn, which requires me to elevate my head, it’s best I sleep on multiple pillows.

I call the second pillow “Heartburn Pillow.”

Just to clarify, the pillow doesn’t give me heartburn. My poor food choices do.

The third one, “Menopause Pillow,” not only adds extra elevation (I pretty much sleep sitting up), but it’s the only pillow that stays cool all night long.

Unlike the other pillows that I have to flip continuously throughout the night (like some manic IHOP cook), this one never loses its cool.

God bless “Menopause Pillow!”

The next pillow I use is “Injury Pillow.”

Correction: “Injury Pillows.”

These pillows are strategically placed to combat all my ailments. Currently, one is wedged under my stiff back (thanks a lot, pickleball), one is between my knees (again, pickleball’s fault), and the third is used as a cushion for my pickleball elbow.

(Maybe I should stop playing pickleball.) 

But, even with all these pillows, there’s no way I’m getting any sleep, unless I have my two “Blackout Pillows.” These are my lumpiest pillows, and I position the first one so that it sinks into my face, shielding my eyes. I then stack the second one on top, to ensure that I’m shrouded in complete darkness.

I like to feel like I’m sleeping in a coal mine. 

I’m guessing by now, you’re thinking, wow, this lady sure is a pillow hog! Does poor Steve even get one pillow?

The answer is, yes!

The ninth pillow, which is probably the most important pillow, is the one that Steve and I share.

Adorable, right?

I refer to this pillow as the “Stop Breathing Pillow.”

When Steve settles into his REM cycle, his breaths become deep, guttural sighs. 

These sighs then turn into dramatic exhales, which fill the room.

Basically, I’m sleeping with Darth Vader.

I try shushing him.

There are some gentle nudges and kicks.

Darth slumbers on.

This is when I lovingly place this pillow over his face.

“Stop breathing,” I whisper.

Again, I cannot emphasize how tenderly I say this.

Fortunately, this usually does the trick. 

After Steve fights off the pillow and the look of terror dissipates from his eyes, he settles back in. His breathing is now at a more acceptable level.

Like that of a hibernating bear.

That’s when we finally both fall asleep.

Just the two of us.

And our eleven pillows.

— January Gordon Ornellas

January Gordon Ornellas is a comedy writer whose stories include everything from colonoscopies to triathlons (equally torturous). Her article, “Rookie’s Triathlon Lessons,” appeared in the LA Times (June 2019). Two of her other stories, “Gobble, Gobble” and “Almost Taken,” were recently published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Laughter is the Best Medicine (April 2020), and another four can be found in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Too Funny! (April 2022). She won honorable mention in the global humor category in the 2022 Erma Bombeck Writing Competition and is currently writing a novel, Diabolical, a dark comedy about the seedy underbelly of girls’ softball, and completing a collection of humorous essays, My Above Average Colon and Other Midlife Adventures. January also enjoys writing for her blog (midlifebloomer.com), traveling and spending time with her husband and two adult daughters.