Mr. R came home Saturday afternoon. I love it when he's home for a weekend! He started his fabulous Superbowl chili, hung out with the kids, and picked a fight with me.
Wha?!?! What did I say? Yes indeedy, I kid you not. I reminded him that he needed to call his mom, and he called me a NAG. You might as well call me the C-word first, I despise the word "nag" and he knows it. Horribly hurt, I finished my schoolwork and went to bed early without saying a word to him. I was angry, but figured I'd be over it in the morning once I got some rest.
Two hours later, I was woken up by my husband's cries of pain. Oh, the vomiting. Oh, the blood. Oh, the mopping of my bathroom floor at 1am. Sigh. We're not sure if he had food poisoning or a migraine, but whatever it was, it was gross. And although he didn't intend to wake me, it's awfully hard to sleep through his puking, because he doesn't hold back. Does anyone else's husband do the puke/shout thing? Never in my life had I heard someone throw up like him. Ok, that's sorta gross. Sorry.
I pulled off his now disgusting pants as he laid on the floor in front of the toilet. Got him a drink of water to rinse out his mouth. Wiped his face with a cold cloth. Started a load of laundry before that nasty crap festered. He eventually crawled into bed, but his stomach cramps were such that he kept rolling around in the bed, effectively keeping me wide awake. I grabbed my pillows and an extra blanket, kissed his forehead (not his lips...not after what I just saw) and bunked in the living room in our old recliner. I slept fitfully from 2am to about 6am, because we have these windows in our living room that are not tinted, and even the January sun in Florida is enough to blind someone in the morning. Exhausted, I started a pot of coffee, did a laundry transfer, and checked up on him. It's funny how a grown man who is older than me can look like a little boy when he's sick. I felt a rush of compassion come over me, love for the man who less than 8 hours ago ticked me off completely. I checked his head...he was sweaty and obviously dehydrated. I woke him up to get some water into him. He looked up at me and said, "Thanks for taking care of me, babe. And sorry I was such a jerk last night."
Isn't that what it's all about? Loving someone when they're not so loving? I could have been a total "b" and told him to clean up his own puke, not my problem. Do your own laundry, loser. I chose to love him when he wasn't so lovable.