I hate to admit it, but I become an inpatient, uncaring, horrible wife when my husband is sick. My lack of understanding could be due to the fact that he acts like a gigantic baby when germs get the best of him. Or it could be how he requires total isolation when he feels the tiniest sniffle. Or it just might be the fact that I become a single parent (to three, rather than two), housekeeper, and cook when he is down for the count.
It could also have nothing to do with my husband at all. It could be the fact that my kids go completely bonkers when one of us is feeling low. As was demonstrated while I was preparing dinner, when my youngest decided to dump food coloring all over the pantry floor. Or earlier today, when he dumped out an entire, brand new box of wipes onto the floor. Or when the oldest decides that today is the day to throw every temper tantrum possible in a 24 hour period. I may resent him for putting me in these situations.
Another possible reason for my frustration could be that when I am sick, I am still here. I help as much as I can. I rest on the couch, so that I am still available to him and the boys. When he is sick, he hibernates. He is essentially useless to me and the kids. It could be that too.
Either way, no matter what the reason for my intense frustration, it is there. I actually get angry with my husband for being sick. I know it's not fair. I know my grumpiness doesn't help him get healthy faster. I know that he can't do anything about it. But I still do it. I still feel the way that I do.
Maybe it is that he is such an amazing husband and daddy, that I just don't know what to do without him. I have never felt like I have to parent alone, except when he is sick. I never feel neglected or forgotten, except when he's sick. He is my true partner, in everything that we do, except when he's sick.You would think that this would make it easier for me to be nice to him when he's not feeling well. Unfortunately for him, I think it makes it harder.
Get well soon Joseph. Or I will have no choice, but to ignore the fact that the boys are headed up the stairs, strait toward our bedroom, in all their noisy, energy-filled, "I miss Daddy!" glory.
