As ecstatic as I was to see him walk through the door a few minutes early on that crazy Monday, I was not thrilled with the slumped shoulders and lackadaisical “Hi…” I was even less thrilled with the “I don’t feel good” that followed. I was even less thrilled with the fever that consumed him a few hours later. I hated to
miss my girls’ night out see him suffering. Plus, I knew that I wouldn’t be far behind.
There’s something you must know about my husband. He’s kind of a girl. As in he’s way more into the snuggling, loving touches, and all around general affection than I am. It’s sweet, really. Endearing. I love him for it. He just doesn’t have the same personal space requirements that I do. Sometimes sitting next to one another, my hand resting [what I think is] lovingly on his leg, is enough for me.
But not for him. Especially when he’s sick. And when he’s sick? It totally grosses me out.
Now I know what you’re thinking: that it’s just plain irresponsible to get all lovey dovey on someone when you’re carrying an infectious disease. But I chalk it up to him just needing some extra attention, and when he needs attention, he gives attention. Besides, who am I to deny a sick man his desire to be comforted by his super hot wife?
Unfortunately, I’m much less fun (than usual) to snuggle with. All I can think is, “I. Cannot. Get. Sick.” Because I can’t. Moms to three small children do not get days off. With every hot breath on the back of my neck, all I can see are the tiny, creepy crawly germs spilling out of his mouth, flooding into my hair, attacking my immune system like the flesh eating scarabs in The Mummy.
But I lay there with him. Because he’s miserable and wants some comfort. Because he needs me more than the laundry does. Because I love him.
And because I know that when I get it, he’ll be there to take care of me, but not snuggle with me. Because he knows I won’t want to.
And in case you’re wondering…I did get the sickness. For half a day. Not nearly the pampering opportunity I was hoping for.