Chris has a cold.
And not just a cold, but a whopper of a nasty cold.
I feel really bad for him.
Really. I do.
But, as always...I'm terrified for me.
I am the queen of the upper respiratory infection. What starts as a small cold that lasts for a few days in other people usually settles in my chest and lingers for weeks.
So I am avoiding my husband.
Because I do not want his whopper of a nasty cold.
Talking to him from a distance of six feet or more. Yesterday I even seriously contemplated spending the night at a hotel. I'm opening doors and drawers with wads of kleenex and paper towels in my hands to avoid touching germ-y surfaces.
This morning Chris is feeling a tiny bit better and is heading off to work. Before he leaves he comes over to plant a kiss on my hair and as much as I hate to admit it, my thoughts are, "Please stay away from me until you feel completely better! Don't give me this cold! Don't touch me!"
Poor guy. I know that I actually cringed when he came near me.
I love sharing things with Chris.
Really I do.
Everything except the common cold.
Needless to say...since he got sick this weekend we've both been pretty grumpy. Him because he is sick and feeling wretched and me because I am worried about becoming sick and feeling wretched and because I am not being very comforting.
Of all of the things that make me nervous about becoming a mom, sharing illness is the thing that makes me the most....squirm-y. I won't be able to NOT pick up my kid when she has a cold just because I'm terrified of catching it.
But I know that I'm going to think about not picking her up.
I'm going to cringe when she sneezes on me knowing that it's just a matter of time before I'm sick and miserable, too.
How awful is that?
The idea of me and Schmoopie being sick at the same time. Grumpy and not being able to comfort each other. Just awful.
I'll try to be a better and more comforting wife when Chris gets home today. Maybe I'll give him a hug.
And then go spray myself down with Lysol...