Our third wedding anniversary was this past weekend. This anniversary will always go down in the books as memorable partly because my gift was something that Fuzz had always wanted. No, not the time honoured traditional wedding gift of leather but…the nastiest virus of the century. Come on! Who wouldn’t want that over a leather bound journal?
Yep, it’s true. It was the weekend of the worst cold ever – for both of us. As explained in my last post, it started in my sinuses but has since migrated to my chest. Bronchitis. Fuzz was a little luckier because his just took up residency in his sinuses and left as fast as it came. Today was the first time that I actually saw a glimmer of my formal healthy self. I’m sure Fuzz will be happy about that because I have been a phlegmy, tissue toting, housedress-wearing version of myself. Alright, alright! I was not exactly wearing a Mrs. Roper-esque muumuu but I figure that maternity nightgowns are pretty darn close.
This wedding anniversary also became memorable I was reminded how special my husband really is. Although we were both not feeling so hot, he got up with our son who was raring to go having just gotten over the evil virus (as it is now named in our house). He let me nap not once but twice each day. He made me many the mugs of honey, lemon and hot water. He drew the line at cooking dinner but he did lift a mean finger to dial in chicken noodle soup from Swiss Chalet, followed by consommé soup the next day. Last night, he went out to get me a Dairy Queen Blizzard of the Month and took the wrath when he called to say they didn’t have the cookies needed to make the Blizzard. Did I mention I’m also 6 months pregnant? And yet after coming home with my consolation Blizzard, he went out again to buy Vicks vapour rub for my burning chest. Unbelievably, he then got up to clean and fill the humidifier at 12:30 AM to help me breathe (although I’m pretty sure he was just tired of my newly acquired stuffy nose snore at this point.)
Sometimes I get caught up in the fact that Fuzz would never stand outside my window holding a boom box over his head or be outside waiting to pick me up from my sister’s wedding after my entire family forgot my birthday. Okay, so I got carried away on the 80s teen romcoms on that last one but you get the point. This weekend was when I came to the realization that I cannot even think of a single time that Fuzz has not ever done something that I have asked him to do. Not. Ever. He may never read my mind but I could probably ask him to set his hair on fire and he would ask what accelerant to use.
Who needs Lloyd Dobler or Jake Ryan when you have that?