I hear women laugh all the time about their husbands when they are sick. How the menfolk lay around, talking of death when they have a simply head cold and how they - they women - have to keep plugging along when they're sick.
Except, we're the opposite in my house.
I'm the worst sick person ever. I sit in my old La-Z-Boy bundled up, covered in used tissues and talking like I'm hallucinating, "Is that you, Grandma? Didn't you die in 1990? Have you come for me?" No, seriously, I'm not exaggerating. Just as my husband who is on the other side of that conversation sayings, "Allison, did you need more medicine?"
Yes, med me up, Doc!
My husband, on the other hand, can be coughing up a lung, have pneumonia and broken bones and will still get up, take care of the kids, and go to work. It's amazing. He's a fabulous sick person. Yes, he may sleep longer and be a little grumpy, but otherwise, he takes care of it all.
While I'm wallowing in my used-up tissues wondering where the purple sparkly unicorn went.
I hope I get over this cold quickly...