I'd like to take this opportunity to tell my sisters how lucky I am to have my hubby. He's tall, dark, and handsome. Plus he's got genes for good teeth to pass on to my kids and evenly divided X and Y sperm. How lucky could a girl get?
Oh, but there's more. Because this past weekend, he spent a good chunk of his birthday scrubbing out vomit bedding and clothing voluntarily (I didn't even have to ask him). This was not just any old birthday, either, but the big important one that I was supposed to plan some sort of elaborate surprise party for, decorated with OVER THE HILL signs everywhere. That's right, the husband turned 40 this weekend.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, the whole family came down with the stomach flu. Hence the vomit bedding and clothing. My kids now carry around little buckets around with them as an accessory, because you just never know.
I was also out of commission, suffering from a fever that originated from my gum surgery, although the dentist is convinced it was from just a normal cold. Never mind the fact that the fever started the same day following my dental procedure. And that my ear on the same side he worked on had shooting pains. And that only one side of my throat hurt.
The important thing is that I did not have to plan the big OVER THE HILL party, although this reprieve came at a very great cost. Physical pain v. party planning. Wow, tough choice, good thing it was not left up to me.
By the way, for those of you who want to know what it feels like to turn 40, the husband replies,"The same, except with more vomit."
This should probably be a separate entry for later but by the time next month rolls around I will have forgotten.
Our baby boy was lying in bed with us last night, just like he does every night. He was rolling around, hiding under the blankets, sticking his feet in my face and announcing, "Here are your cupcakes!" (See a previous post about the cupcake reference. I do not know which post that was, maybe from 2008.)
After I rubbed his belly he said, "Mommy, your hands are cold!"
I replied, "Yes, they are always cold at night."
He immediately turned, put his hands together, closed his eyes, and prayed,"Dear Jesus, please help Mommy's hands not to be cold all the time. Amen."
It is no wonder, perfectly logical and reasonable that I spoil that little guy the way I do.