I should have taken a picture to go along with this post but that is a little too mean, even for me. Okay I just forgot but the other way makes me seem, y’know, more better.
Jeremy has a cold. After his night out on Friday he woke up near death’s door, apparently. My weekend consisted of vapo-rubbing him making pitying noises. When Jeremy’s sick he turns 6. Let me illustrate. I come into the room and hear these pitiful mewling sounds coming from under the covers. I go over and ask what’s wrong.
‘I sick.’ Cough, cough.
“Can I get you anything?’
‘No no I’ll be fine.’
‘Okay then.’ I get up to leave.
‘OoOOoOooooh.’ Cough cough.
Sigh. ‘Let me get you something to make you feel better.’
‘No no, don’t worry about me’. Shiver.
'Jeremy if you don’t tell me something I can do to make you feel better I will kill you.’
No pity ME!
I really really experience a moment of horror when I realize Jeremy has a cold. If it’s more serious, like a flu, than I love it. He actually is helpless, needs me and is easy to handle. When it’s a cold all he wants is to be pitied and I have to suffer through bouts of energy which result in tickling and covers stealing that I cannot retaliate against because the moment I try he curls into the fetal position and starts coughing.
Sigh. But I still love you baby.