on my (sick, yet brave) hubby...

It takes a strong man to make jokes at 5:30 in the morning while he's up with the stomach flu.

me: I wonder what could have made you this sick.
Jay: I think it was the antifreeze you put in my macaroni.
me: What? Psh. No more Snapped marathons on the Oxygen channel for you.

At least he's feeling better this evening. He was sick since 3:00 in the morning, which was pretty gosh-darn awful. The last time I remember having the flu that bad, I was ten. Only for me it lasted, like, a week. Wow, I should probably stock up on the Airborne or something. Or open a window. (Now that I think about it, I've been sitting here breathing in the virus for a good two hours...)

It felt good to take care of him, though. I love doing that.

I think that's love when you would rather be the one hurting, rather than see someone else hurting. This morning I genuinely wanted to take what he had, so he didn't have to deal with it. Dude, I'm nauseous 90% of my life (I kid, I kid), whereas Jay is never sick. I don't think he's thrown up once since I've known him. The guy is walking immunity, I swear. So, it's odd to see him sick. I hate not knowing what to do, or realizing that there's nothing I can do to make him better. (And still, he never complains or anything. He didn't even bother to wake me up until he'd been up for a couple hours. I'm such a wuss compared to him.) On a side note: I did look in my handy dandy Complete Illustrated Guide to Medical Self-Care (or as I call it: The Hypochondriac's Bible), and it said that - unless you'd had a head injury or some other things, yadda yadda yadda - you don't need to go to the doctor unless you've been vomiting for 72 hours. I'm sorry, what? SEVENTY-TWO HOURS? Would you even have stomach lining by then? Or teeth? Seemed a wee bit extreme to me, but what do I know?

Anyway.

I'm hoping tonight won't be my turn to cradle the toilet. I'm crossing my fingers that I have somehow inherited that super-human Mom Immunity (even though I have yet to be a mom).

That would be sweet.

(Oh, and it was not my super amazing baked macaroni that made him sick. Of this I am convinced. We both ate the same exact thing for dinner, so it couldn't have been. Couldn't have been! Just thought I'd throw that in there. Because the macaroni was like heaven on a fork. Seriously.)