So we're at a standstill with the adoption because of the photo situation.
We apparently didn't say "cheeeeese" in the "correct" way.
Crap.
We sent the adoption facilitators the photos we liked and thought would be best for our profile and got several rather firm e-mails in response saying essentially, "Some great photos, but not everything that we need." Our adoption facilitators will not budge on this issue.
Chris e-mailed several times trying to get them to budge.
No go.
If we e-mail again it'll just turning into a pissing contest.
So while Chris was at the grocery store last night I spent time looking at the various profiles on the adoption facilitators' website.
Essentially many of the couples' close-up photos look exactly the same - sweet and gooey and super posed.
Really?
This is what we have to do?
Sigh.
So, today we need to take more photos. And since we're planning to do "tree trim" today it's at least a good day to take some fun photos of us actually doing something that we like to do.
And - as much as we hate the idea - we'll have to get out the tripod and take some gooey "couple-y" photos of us looking adoringly at each other.
Gack.
Not that I don't adore Chris...because I do. But the idea that an expectant mother will somehow only see our love for each other or my adoration for Chris via a photo of me making goo-goo eyes at him...It's just so stupid.
If you really want to see how Chris and I are together - check out or wedding photos. There are certainly some gooey ones, but the best photos show us just when we're being silly. In fact, my very favorite photo is of Chris kissing me on the cheek while I have my tongue stuck out at the camera. It's actually one of a three-photo series where we're just totally goofing around. I think that my grandmother was horrified to see that particular series featured in our wedding album, but anyone who knows us thought they were great and pretty much reflects us as a couple.
So today - in spite of me still having a cold and feeling kind of on the crappy side - we are going to take more photos. We are intelligent, fun and creative people and we will NOT be defeated by this photo process!!
Besides, if the adoption doesn't move forward again and very soon...I'm pretty certain that my wonderful husband's head will explode. He is NOT a happy camper. And when he's not happy... nobody's happy.
So....say "cheeeeeeeeese"
Again.
13 December 2009
07 December 2009
Sharing...part 3
Well, it happened.
I made it through whole week of not sharing the common cold.
I did everything right - hand washing, utilizing hand sanitizer, using paper towels to open doors, kept myself hydrated, blah, blah, blah.
And I STILL managed to get Chris' d@#$ nasty whopper of a cold.
Obviously I got careless somewhere.
And a germ made its way through my defenses.
Rats.
I made it through whole week of not sharing the common cold.
I did everything right - hand washing, utilizing hand sanitizer, using paper towels to open doors, kept myself hydrated, blah, blah, blah.
And I STILL managed to get Chris' d@#$ nasty whopper of a cold.
Obviously I got careless somewhere.
And a germ made its way through my defenses.
Rats.
05 December 2009
Forest and Cecil...
I awake this morning thinking that it's maybe 7:30 or 8:00.
I'm surprised when my little alarm clock reads 10:00. So surprised that I get out of bed to check the clock in the kitchen.
Yup. 10:00 a.m.
How did I sleep so late?
And then it hits me...
No Grey Bullet to wake me.
Annabel kept us all on schedule. Her insistent "Mrow! Mrow! Mrow!" at 7:00 a.m.on Saturday and Sunday mornings got us out of bed. Now, more often than not we'd feed Annabel and the other cats and then head back to bed to catch a few more z's, but at least we were up and had the option of starting the day early.
Not so much anymore.
Our other kitties are content to wait until one of us rolls out of bed to feed them breakfast.
Cecil is, in fact, quite ecstatic most weekend mornings to have a long "lie in" with Chris. She snuggles under the covers with him and would be just thrilled to stay there all day if he chose not to get up out of bed.
Our Cecil is not what one would call "a morning person." She is more times than not quite grumpy about having to get out of her warm comfortable bed to have her breakfast. Her tail swishes violently back and forth to indicate her displeasure as she slowly makes her way from the bed to the chilly kitchen all the while casting me a baleful look with her intense blue eyes.
It really is amazing that Cecil is as chunky as she is with her attitude towards her morning feedings.
There are people who say that cats have no personalities.
"I like dogs. They have personalities. Cats just don't."
Obviously the people who make these kinds of statements have never lived with a cat.
I described Annabel's amazing personality in a previous post, but I'm ashamed to admit that I have not done Cecil and Forest any justice on the blog. They really are the most amazing - and totally weird - cats.
Forest is probably the weirdest little cat I've ever met. First of all - she's funny looking. Her blue eyes are sort of small and squinty and just slightly crossed. She generally looks like she's a little worried about something. She has a half-mask with one side of her face chocolate brown and the other white. She's skinny - something that we and the vet worry about and battle against constantly with medication and as much food as we can get her to eat. Her tail - unlike her sister's - is generally held straight up in the air. And she has a loud, penetrating and harsh cry. For the most part she's a pretty happy little thing who is not so much a "lap cat" as a "leaning cat." When you're laying on the couch watching tv she likes to hop up and lean against you while you pound on her side. The harder you pound the louder she purrs.
Forest also has the distinction of having perhaps the loudest purr on the planet.
Really.
It's astounding that such a small creature can make that kind of sound. When I'm on the phone with my mom and Forest is nearby in purr mode I'll say, "Hear, listen" and hold the phone up to Forest.
My mom will laugh and say, "Oh my God!"
Aside from her phenomenally and abnormally loud purr, one of Forest's other peculiar traits is her preference for sticking her head in Chris' armpit and sometimes mine. Why? It's a mystery.
Sometimes when she's in leaning mode, she'll fold her front legs under her and just kind of stand on her head with her butt held straight up in the air. All the while purring. There are times when she'll fall asleep like that. She also very much enjoys being cradled like you would a baby.
After her morning meal, Forest generally races into the bedroom to fling herself violently on the bed. She isn't one of those cats who settles into lying down either. She just falls over on her side. Hard. And lays there purring - all the while watching us as we get ready for work. Willing us to stop gathering clothes and jewellery and instead come over and pound on her side and rub the side of her face.
Which we do.
She is so weird and wonderful.
And then there is Cecil.
The Grump.
The ChunkaMunka.
Cecil, unlike her sister Forest, is GORGEOUS. She has HUGE blue eyes that jump out from the dark chocolate mask that surrounds them. She has a large round face, very smooth fur and a black beauty mark in the white fur next to her nose.
Alas, while Cecil is most certainly the Greatest Beauty Among Felines, she is no scholar. In fact, she is Dumb as a Box of Rocks.
"Are you Dumb as a Box of Rocks?" I'll ask her while I'm petting her. This question is most often received with a blank look and a slightly louder purr.
We are certain that there is very little synaptic activity occurring in Cecil's brain. In fact, we're just as certain that she has just one active brain cell...and it ain't all that active.
Cecil's main goal in life is to be physically attached to Chris. In bed, on the couch, at the kitchen table, while he's at his computer. She doesn't care. She just wants to be in his lap.
It is when Chris is at his computer that Cecil is most miserable because the computer is getting all of his attention and Chris becomes rather annoyed with her and shoos her away. Many times she spends hours crying and doing everything possible to annoy him just to get him to pick her up again. Tearing up papers on my desk. Knocking things off of my desk and his desk. And other times she'll simply sit on my desk or in my chair if I am not occupying it staring at him with such utter longing it almost breaks your heart.
Almost.
The thing that is most endearing about our Cecil is that she is so grumpy. It's become more pronounced over the years and gets funnier all of the time. Her grumpiness reveals itself in any number of ways including a myriad of Baleful Looks (she is the EXPERT at giving the Baleful Look), her incredibly expressive violently swishing tail, and her meow, which isn't so much a "meow" as a bleat. She sounds like a sheep.
And lately she has a newer sound..."Meh."
Really.
I'm not kidding.
Here's a conversation between Cecil and me:
ME [while petting her]: Are you a Grumpy Girl?
CECIL [purring]: Meh.
ME: Are you the Grumpiest Girl in the Whole World?
CECIL: Meh. [purr, purr] Meh.
ME: You are such a Grump! How did you get to be so Grumpy?
CECIL [purring more loudly]: Meh.
Too funny.
Cecil also gets the Kitty Crazies, which is pretty funny considering her normal state of total indolence.
Generally in the evenings after she has digested her evening meal the Kitty Crazies will come upon her and she will without warning: fly from the bedroom-down the hall-into the living room-up onto the chair using it as a springboard to the bay window-then turn quickly-jump back down from the chair-onto the floor-then-STOP-crouch-thrash tail-then- ZOOM back to the bedroom!!!!!
Repeat.
Repeat.
I may miss The Grey Bullet something awful, but I am so lucky that Cecil and Forest are here in my life and I can't wait to introduce the Schmoopie to the joys of cats...and eventually dogs.
Now where is that Grumpy Girl?
I'm surprised when my little alarm clock reads 10:00. So surprised that I get out of bed to check the clock in the kitchen.
Yup. 10:00 a.m.
How did I sleep so late?
And then it hits me...
No Grey Bullet to wake me.
Annabel kept us all on schedule. Her insistent "Mrow! Mrow! Mrow!" at 7:00 a.m.on Saturday and Sunday mornings got us out of bed. Now, more often than not we'd feed Annabel and the other cats and then head back to bed to catch a few more z's, but at least we were up and had the option of starting the day early.
Not so much anymore.
Our other kitties are content to wait until one of us rolls out of bed to feed them breakfast.
Cecil is, in fact, quite ecstatic most weekend mornings to have a long "lie in" with Chris. She snuggles under the covers with him and would be just thrilled to stay there all day if he chose not to get up out of bed.
Our Cecil is not what one would call "a morning person." She is more times than not quite grumpy about having to get out of her warm comfortable bed to have her breakfast. Her tail swishes violently back and forth to indicate her displeasure as she slowly makes her way from the bed to the chilly kitchen all the while casting me a baleful look with her intense blue eyes.
It really is amazing that Cecil is as chunky as she is with her attitude towards her morning feedings.
There are people who say that cats have no personalities.
"I like dogs. They have personalities. Cats just don't."
Obviously the people who make these kinds of statements have never lived with a cat.
I described Annabel's amazing personality in a previous post, but I'm ashamed to admit that I have not done Cecil and Forest any justice on the blog. They really are the most amazing - and totally weird - cats.
Forest is probably the weirdest little cat I've ever met. First of all - she's funny looking. Her blue eyes are sort of small and squinty and just slightly crossed. She generally looks like she's a little worried about something. She has a half-mask with one side of her face chocolate brown and the other white. She's skinny - something that we and the vet worry about and battle against constantly with medication and as much food as we can get her to eat. Her tail - unlike her sister's - is generally held straight up in the air. And she has a loud, penetrating and harsh cry. For the most part she's a pretty happy little thing who is not so much a "lap cat" as a "leaning cat." When you're laying on the couch watching tv she likes to hop up and lean against you while you pound on her side. The harder you pound the louder she purrs.
Forest also has the distinction of having perhaps the loudest purr on the planet.
Really.
It's astounding that such a small creature can make that kind of sound. When I'm on the phone with my mom and Forest is nearby in purr mode I'll say, "Hear, listen" and hold the phone up to Forest.
My mom will laugh and say, "Oh my God!"
Aside from her phenomenally and abnormally loud purr, one of Forest's other peculiar traits is her preference for sticking her head in Chris' armpit and sometimes mine. Why? It's a mystery.
Sometimes when she's in leaning mode, she'll fold her front legs under her and just kind of stand on her head with her butt held straight up in the air. All the while purring. There are times when she'll fall asleep like that. She also very much enjoys being cradled like you would a baby.
After her morning meal, Forest generally races into the bedroom to fling herself violently on the bed. She isn't one of those cats who settles into lying down either. She just falls over on her side. Hard. And lays there purring - all the while watching us as we get ready for work. Willing us to stop gathering clothes and jewellery and instead come over and pound on her side and rub the side of her face.
Which we do.
She is so weird and wonderful.
And then there is Cecil.
The Grump.
The ChunkaMunka.
Cecil, unlike her sister Forest, is GORGEOUS. She has HUGE blue eyes that jump out from the dark chocolate mask that surrounds them. She has a large round face, very smooth fur and a black beauty mark in the white fur next to her nose.
Alas, while Cecil is most certainly the Greatest Beauty Among Felines, she is no scholar. In fact, she is Dumb as a Box of Rocks.
"Are you Dumb as a Box of Rocks?" I'll ask her while I'm petting her. This question is most often received with a blank look and a slightly louder purr.
We are certain that there is very little synaptic activity occurring in Cecil's brain. In fact, we're just as certain that she has just one active brain cell...and it ain't all that active.
Cecil's main goal in life is to be physically attached to Chris. In bed, on the couch, at the kitchen table, while he's at his computer. She doesn't care. She just wants to be in his lap.
It is when Chris is at his computer that Cecil is most miserable because the computer is getting all of his attention and Chris becomes rather annoyed with her and shoos her away. Many times she spends hours crying and doing everything possible to annoy him just to get him to pick her up again. Tearing up papers on my desk. Knocking things off of my desk and his desk. And other times she'll simply sit on my desk or in my chair if I am not occupying it staring at him with such utter longing it almost breaks your heart.
Almost.
The thing that is most endearing about our Cecil is that she is so grumpy. It's become more pronounced over the years and gets funnier all of the time. Her grumpiness reveals itself in any number of ways including a myriad of Baleful Looks (she is the EXPERT at giving the Baleful Look), her incredibly expressive violently swishing tail, and her meow, which isn't so much a "meow" as a bleat. She sounds like a sheep.
And lately she has a newer sound..."Meh."
Really.
I'm not kidding.
Here's a conversation between Cecil and me:
ME [while petting her]: Are you a Grumpy Girl?
CECIL [purring]: Meh.
ME: Are you the Grumpiest Girl in the Whole World?
CECIL: Meh. [purr, purr] Meh.
ME: You are such a Grump! How did you get to be so Grumpy?
CECIL [purring more loudly]: Meh.
Too funny.
Cecil also gets the Kitty Crazies, which is pretty funny considering her normal state of total indolence.
Generally in the evenings after she has digested her evening meal the Kitty Crazies will come upon her and she will without warning: fly from the bedroom-down the hall-into the living room-up onto the chair using it as a springboard to the bay window-then turn quickly-jump back down from the chair-onto the floor-then-STOP-crouch-thrash tail-then- ZOOM back to the bedroom!!!!!
Repeat.
Repeat.
I may miss The Grey Bullet something awful, but I am so lucky that Cecil and Forest are here in my life and I can't wait to introduce the Schmoopie to the joys of cats...and eventually dogs.
Now where is that Grumpy Girl?
04 December 2009
Mess...
Our house is a mess right now.
This isn't an unusual occurrence.
I am, at best, an erratic housekeeper. As I've mentioned in previous posts this is mostly because when I get done with an 8, 10 or 12 hour work day I just don't have the energy to do anything else. And on the weekends I feel the need to try to rest up as much as possible to prep for the next insane hectic work week.
Consequently...mess.
It drives me crazy, but usually when it gets too out of control...or we have company coming...we take a day to get our house in shape. Luckily we have a fairly small house so most big cleaning can get done in a day or so.
Not so much for a friend of mine who is out west dealing with her mom's house. Her mom is one of those people that would be classified as a "hoarder."
This is apparently the third time in two dozen years that my friend and her siblings have had to shovel out their mom's home. It's so very sad and frustrating for my friend and her family. They've been cleaning and shoveling out stuff for almost two weeks straight and my friend reports that there is still "sooooo much more to do" before an upcoming visit from the social workers who will determine if the home is habitable and if my friend's mom can return to live there independently (with regular visits from the social worker.)
It's amazing to me that anyone could live in a home full up (and apparently my friend's mom's house was literally FULL) with that kind of chaos.
HOW can you live like that? How can you not do anything about that?
But then I look at my own house...at the kitchen table that is currently covered in various piles of mail, magazines, a slow cooker and assorted and sundry "stuff" and I realize that someone who is a very tidy housekeeper might very well look with horror at my untidy kitchen table while thinking, "HOW can you live like that? How can you not do anything about that?"
Yup.
The truth is that I much prefer my house to be clean and tidy. I don't have the hoarder's need for acquisition. And I DO actually see the mess. I do also share one thing with someone who is a hoarder...I often feel overwhelmed by our stuff.
Part of me has this fantasy that once I'm working part-time and the Schmoopie is here that I will become one of those really tidy people. That I'll have the time and energy to straighten and clean with regularity. That I won't be freaked out when people drop by unexpectedly. That my house will always be spic-n-span clean.
Then I remember my 14-month old niece The Wookie....and her propensity for emptying any and all containers, bags and drawers onto the floor. It takes her just a few minutes to turn a neat and tidy room (say, for example, my sister-in-law's living room) into a Zone of Total Chaos.
Is it just possible that our little Schmoopie will be a neat and tidy little kid who has no interest in making chaos?
Yeah...right...
Fantasy.
And so there will be different mess in our house with the arrival of the Little One...kid mess.
Ah well.
Maybe someday my house will be clean.
Perhaps I'll at least clean off the kitchen table this weekend...
Now where the heck does that slow cooker go?
This isn't an unusual occurrence.
I am, at best, an erratic housekeeper. As I've mentioned in previous posts this is mostly because when I get done with an 8, 10 or 12 hour work day I just don't have the energy to do anything else. And on the weekends I feel the need to try to rest up as much as possible to prep for the next insane hectic work week.
Consequently...mess.
It drives me crazy, but usually when it gets too out of control...or we have company coming...we take a day to get our house in shape. Luckily we have a fairly small house so most big cleaning can get done in a day or so.
Not so much for a friend of mine who is out west dealing with her mom's house. Her mom is one of those people that would be classified as a "hoarder."
This is apparently the third time in two dozen years that my friend and her siblings have had to shovel out their mom's home. It's so very sad and frustrating for my friend and her family. They've been cleaning and shoveling out stuff for almost two weeks straight and my friend reports that there is still "sooooo much more to do" before an upcoming visit from the social workers who will determine if the home is habitable and if my friend's mom can return to live there independently (with regular visits from the social worker.)
It's amazing to me that anyone could live in a home full up (and apparently my friend's mom's house was literally FULL) with that kind of chaos.
HOW can you live like that? How can you not do anything about that?
But then I look at my own house...at the kitchen table that is currently covered in various piles of mail, magazines, a slow cooker and assorted and sundry "stuff" and I realize that someone who is a very tidy housekeeper might very well look with horror at my untidy kitchen table while thinking, "HOW can you live like that? How can you not do anything about that?"
Yup.
The truth is that I much prefer my house to be clean and tidy. I don't have the hoarder's need for acquisition. And I DO actually see the mess. I do also share one thing with someone who is a hoarder...I often feel overwhelmed by our stuff.
Part of me has this fantasy that once I'm working part-time and the Schmoopie is here that I will become one of those really tidy people. That I'll have the time and energy to straighten and clean with regularity. That I won't be freaked out when people drop by unexpectedly. That my house will always be spic-n-span clean.
Then I remember my 14-month old niece The Wookie....and her propensity for emptying any and all containers, bags and drawers onto the floor. It takes her just a few minutes to turn a neat and tidy room (say, for example, my sister-in-law's living room) into a Zone of Total Chaos.
Is it just possible that our little Schmoopie will be a neat and tidy little kid who has no interest in making chaos?
Yeah...right...
Fantasy.
And so there will be different mess in our house with the arrival of the Little One...kid mess.
Ah well.
Maybe someday my house will be clean.
Perhaps I'll at least clean off the kitchen table this weekend...
Now where the heck does that slow cooker go?
03 December 2009
Name calling...
I was visiting a few blogs yesterday and was shocked (although by now I guess I shouldn't be...) at the incredible and awful name calling in them.
Name calling directed, of course, at me.
The prospective adoptive parent.
Names mostly so vicious and nasty that I can't even repeat them here.
(Apparently my earlier cry for compassion has not been heard across the blogosphere.)
Sigh.
Again, I guess that I shouldn't be all that surprised because we live in a world rife with name calling.
Politicians, the media, entertainment, talking heads, talk shows, blogs, etc. etc. etc.
The list goes on.
Instead of listening to each other and trying for compassion and understanding, the general attitude seems to be that you just call the person you don't agree with a nasty name...and then you move on. What a cop out.
"I don't like what you have to say. I don't agree with you. You're a jerk!"
End of discussion. Move on!
Listening to each other. Talking things through. Trying to put yourself in someone else's shoes. Agreeing to disagree. Really taking the time to let someone else express their opinions without interruption. Without argument. Without name calling. That takes time, patience and maturity.
Name calling seems to me to be the lazy person's immature way out.
I hope that we raise our child to be compassionate. To listen. To discuss. To be patient. To go against the tide of laziness and meanness to be a person of substance, maturity and the ability to see through someone else's eyes...to be kind.
So to all of those people out there who called me nasty names...
I choose not to participate in name calling.
(So there!)
Name calling directed, of course, at me.
The prospective adoptive parent.
Names mostly so vicious and nasty that I can't even repeat them here.
(Apparently my earlier cry for compassion has not been heard across the blogosphere.)
Sigh.
Again, I guess that I shouldn't be all that surprised because we live in a world rife with name calling.
Politicians, the media, entertainment, talking heads, talk shows, blogs, etc. etc. etc.
The list goes on.
Instead of listening to each other and trying for compassion and understanding, the general attitude seems to be that you just call the person you don't agree with a nasty name...and then you move on. What a cop out.
"I don't like what you have to say. I don't agree with you. You're a jerk!"
End of discussion. Move on!
Listening to each other. Talking things through. Trying to put yourself in someone else's shoes. Agreeing to disagree. Really taking the time to let someone else express their opinions without interruption. Without argument. Without name calling. That takes time, patience and maturity.
Name calling seems to me to be the lazy person's immature way out.
I hope that we raise our child to be compassionate. To listen. To discuss. To be patient. To go against the tide of laziness and meanness to be a person of substance, maturity and the ability to see through someone else's eyes...to be kind.
So to all of those people out there who called me nasty names...
I choose not to participate in name calling.
(So there!)
02 December 2009
Sharing...part 2
Our conversation this evening...
ME (from the top of the stairs): Did you read my blog post today?
HUSBAND (calls up from his desk): No.
ME: (still from the top of the stairs): I'm an awful person.
HUSBAND: Are you going to get us in trouble with the Home Owners' Association?
ME: No. Just you.
HUSBAND: [Silence as he reads my blog post]
HUSBAND: Y'know, Lysol hurts when it gets in your eyes...
ME: [I laugh] I'm an awful person, aren't I?
HUSBAND: [long pause] Nooo...
ME: That was a really long pause before that "Nooo."
HUSBAND: [no answer. I can hear him tap-tap-tapping furiously away on his keyboard]
ME: Are you leaving me a comment?
HUSBAND: Maaayyybeee... [tap tap tap!]
ME (from the top of the stairs): Did you read my blog post today?
HUSBAND (calls up from his desk): No.
ME: (still from the top of the stairs): I'm an awful person.
HUSBAND: Are you going to get us in trouble with the Home Owners' Association?
ME: No. Just you.
HUSBAND: [Silence as he reads my blog post]
HUSBAND: Y'know, Lysol hurts when it gets in your eyes...
ME: [I laugh] I'm an awful person, aren't I?
HUSBAND: [long pause] Nooo...
ME: That was a really long pause before that "Nooo."
HUSBAND: [no answer. I can hear him tap-tap-tapping furiously away on his keyboard]
ME: Are you leaving me a comment?
HUSBAND: Maaayyybeee... [tap tap tap!]
Sharing...
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...
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...
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