Broken

Last night I was sick again.   Couldn’t keep anything down.   I wanted to climb in my bed, pull the covers over my head, and hide there for several years…I mean days.   So, I’m sitting in my chair in the living room, curled up with my new blanket (a birthday gift from my mom-in-law, Jackie!), thinking about the shortest route to the bathroom.   I looked over to find Chris gazing affectionately at me, smiling.   Beaming.

“What?”   I said.

He just sighed, leaned over and kissed me, and then went back to gazing at me.

“What???”   I said.

“You’re broken,” he said.

Not “you’re beautiful even when you’re sick” or “you’re cute when you’re green” or “I love you for growing my child even though you can’t eat or sleep.”   Nope.   None of those sweet things.

“You’re broken,” he said again, still gazing and smiling.   “And there’s nothing I can do to fix you.”

My husband, who has the patience of Job, who could fix a broken light bulb, who loves me more than anyone else does.   My husband has given up all hope of me ever being normal again.

This is not good.   Not good at all.