Pestulence and Plague
There's a sick Moose in my house.
It started Monday, with mention of how he just wasn't feeling quite right, rundown and tired. It continued into yesterday, when he came home from work, made a big pot of chicken noodle soup ("it warms your soul," he said), and promptly thereafter took root on the family room sofa. I kept my distance and kept Bob occupied until such time as something came about guaranteed to keep him glued to one spot for a half hour (Spongebob), and then left the Den of Disease to walk the track at the gym. When I returned 40 minutes later, the Moose had left the sofa, run the dishwasher, and gotten Bob in the tub, but he looked like hell and quickly returned to the sofa. I got Bob off to bed, then took a shower. When I got out, the Moose arrived at the bedroom door, wrapped awkwardly in a blanket, and collapsed onto our bed. "I was wondering where you went," he said, as I visualized germs and bacteria oozing off him onto my sleeping space.
Yes, I made him sleep on the sofa. But not before I took my freshly-showered pregnant ass up to Quik Trip and bought him some over-the-counter drugs and donuts and Coke Zero. And yes, I felt guilty, but I've certainly done my time on the sofa lately, and--much as it pains me to admit it--I slept better than I have in a few weeks at least.
He shuffled off to work this morning, feeling too "new" to call in sick. I admire his testicular fortitude. I totally would have pussied out and called in from under my blankets.
It started Monday, with mention of how he just wasn't feeling quite right, rundown and tired. It continued into yesterday, when he came home from work, made a big pot of chicken noodle soup ("it warms your soul," he said), and promptly thereafter took root on the family room sofa. I kept my distance and kept Bob occupied until such time as something came about guaranteed to keep him glued to one spot for a half hour (Spongebob), and then left the Den of Disease to walk the track at the gym. When I returned 40 minutes later, the Moose had left the sofa, run the dishwasher, and gotten Bob in the tub, but he looked like hell and quickly returned to the sofa. I got Bob off to bed, then took a shower. When I got out, the Moose arrived at the bedroom door, wrapped awkwardly in a blanket, and collapsed onto our bed. "I was wondering where you went," he said, as I visualized germs and bacteria oozing off him onto my sleeping space.
Yes, I made him sleep on the sofa. But not before I took my freshly-showered pregnant ass up to Quik Trip and bought him some over-the-counter drugs and donuts and Coke Zero. And yes, I felt guilty, but I've certainly done my time on the sofa lately, and--much as it pains me to admit it--I slept better than I have in a few weeks at least.
He shuffled off to work this morning, feeling too "new" to call in sick. I admire his testicular fortitude. I totally would have pussied out and called in from under my blankets.
posted by Mitzi Green at 9:46 AM
2 Comments:
I hope he's feeling well soon.
And I really, really hope that he doesn't get you sick because being sick and pregnant is just wrong, wrong, wrong.
I agree w/Joansy, I had Zak when I had a cold, it's amazing what muscles you use when you cough! Hope things on the Bob front continue to plateau! Much love your way, Marcia
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