Infected

Arg! Sam is sick. Blech. A friend asked me earlier if he was "sick sick" or "man sick" which made me laugh. Since he's been running a fever I'll give him a pass on this one because he is actually sick and not just complaining about a runny nose like its the plague.

Having a sick husband is almost as difficult as having a sick child. I know he can't help being sick, but it can still be maddening. When little kids are sick, you can forgive them for acting miserable because it is hard for them to understand that they will ever feel normal again. I have a little less sympathy for grown men, who know full well they will be back to normal in short order.

I wasn't trying to be insensitive today, but when Sam started feeling really sick I sent him to bed and basically told him not to come out. That way I wasn't frustrated by the fact that he was sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing and he didn't have to deal with Mary wanting things from him. He slept most of the day, coming out occasionally for a drink of water or some crackers, which actually worked out fine. It was like any weekday when he' s gone at work.

I hate when Sam is sick, and not because he's a baby about it; it reminds me of when I was little and one of my parents was sick. It is an unsteady feeling. Surely he could do a lot more to help when he's at home, but he works really hard to support our family and when he is sick it makes the smallest part of me ask, "What if?" and I just can't imagine what we'd do if anything serious ever happens to him. Who is being dramatic now?

At the moment I'm also worried that he's sick with something I'll catch that will end up being dangerous for the baby.

Most of the time I am not a big worrier, but it only takes one little incident to set my mind reeling and I can have a hard time recovering.

Of course, when I'm sick, I mean really sick, he'll still leave me at home with a two-year-old for the day to go coach a tournament in Columbus. . . but that's for another post.