I’m one week shy of being eight months pregnant. My back has gone out twice. I’m tired. I’m cranky. I’m usually half covered in chocolate ice cream smudges. In short, I’m not at my finest.
For the past two months, Bean has been sick off and on. He’ll go about a week feeling great and then he crashes. It’s that same cold virus that’s been going around and the constant flux from cold to warm weather doesn’t help things.
Any time something goes through his daycare, Bean’s going to get it. And then he’s going to bring it home to me. And I’m going to get it because during pregnancy your immune system is just for show.
Basically what I’m saying is that Chris’s life has sucked for the past two months.
With me unable to contribute very significantly to the day-to-day operations in our house right now and Bean a walking, talking, snotty, coughy, whiney mess, it’s pretty much left Chris to not only fend for himself but to provide for the rest of us, too. And he does it like a champ. He never makes me feel guilty. He never complains. He never gets a bad attitude. He just digs deeper and does whatever it takes to keep our house from exploding.
But in the past week, I’ve noticed some changes in my beloved. For example, when I was sitting on my heating pad one night, unable to move any more that day, I asked him to please bring me a bottle of water. To which he replied, “Maybe I should just get you a bell and then you’d never have to get up again.”
And then there was this weekend when Bean was feverish and sick and whined for about 48 hours straight. To which Chris replied, “Okay, Bean! We get it! You’re sick!”
But today, I think he crossed the line. Cracked up. Reached the end of his rope.
This morning at 9:00am, Chris started cleaning. It started simply enough. He was cleaning the kitchen and I started doing some laundry. After the kitchen, Chris moved on to the living room. He vacuumed. He dusted. And then he pulled out the ShopVac and started cleaning the couches. And then under all the furniture. And then under all the area rugs. From there, he moved on to the bathrooms where I’m about 98% sure he used a toothbrush to clean the grout.
He continued like this all day long. All day. Until about 6:00 tonight. All day he cleaned and scrubbed and vacuumed and dusted. All day he didn’t speak to either Bean or me as we wallowed in our misery, except when he mumbled towards my general vicinity at one point, “I’m going to scrub all these damn sick germs away so you people will get over it.”
I have to admit, my first reaction was, “What the heck is HIS problem?!?!” which was immediately followed by my second thought, “He needs to suck it up and get over it!”
But then I realized that it’s probably about time he hit the wall. Eight months of pregnancy, including two months of an immobile wife and a sick son, and I guess this is what happens to you. It’s understandable and I don’t blame him. So tonight I’ve tried to take some time out for him. A back rub while he gave Bean a bath. A few extra hugs and kisses as he was cooking dinner. Because I do appreciate him and I do acknowledge all he’s done for our family during the past few months and I do understand that this hasn’t been easy on him.
But I’m giving him a week to get himself back together again. He gets a week. A week should be enough time for a sane, healthy, able husband to get himself centered again. I mean, it’s not like he’s growing a human being or anything. And then after that week if he hasn’t gotten himself together again, I’m going to sit on him. Which at this point in my pregnancy is a very scary threat.
Until then, maybe he has earned a little break.
(NOTE: There are no pictures of Chris cleaning and/or breaking down in this post because when a grizzly bear is frustrated with you, you don’t stop to take out your camera.)
Today I am thankful for Lysol.