It’s only been 48 hours but I’ve been driven demented already. I’m at my wits end and counting down the hours. What on earth have I done to deserve this?
“What is the problem?” you wonder. It’s not the children (this time), who are being very well behaved just now. It’s not the state of the house (though perhaps that’s not helping. If a burglar was to break in today he’d simply turn around and walk back out, assuming that my house had already been burgled before he got there). The problem today is that my husband has tonsilitis and is at home, sick.
Why is it that when he’s at work I count down the minutes until he gets back home each day, and react as though the world has ended if he misses his regular train, but once he’s actually at home for any length of time I’m ready to strangle him?
I don’t think it’s anything specific that he does. I think it’s more the feeling that somehow I won’t manage to do anything unless he organises it first. The way he’ll get stressed because I haven’t made myself some lunch so he’ll remind me of this repeatedly as though if he’s not there I’ll starve. The way he’ll know of a better way to tidy or hoover and be quite happy to share this information – all the while being “too exhausted” to do it himself. The way he wants attention and nursing, because I’m afraid he’s knocking at the wrong door there. I could go on.
I know, I know, nothing major, but each individual thing grates on me like nails dragged down a blackboard. To be honest, I’m probably just jealous that he’s asleep (again) and I’m shattered.
I did, once upon a time, consider becoming a nurse. I was about 5 and loved my Nurse Nancy stories in Twinkle. I used to stitch up my teddies and care for my sick dollies. It was great but the reality is definitely not. The reality is that dealing with man flu is about as far from fun as you can get. The patient complains much more and generally smells worse because he’s “too sick” to shower. (To give him his due, this time he does have tonsilitis but that’s only making it marginally better.) At the end of the day though, it all comes down to the fact that I’m no Florence Nightengale. I’m no Nurse Nancy, come to that. So I sadly gave up on my nursing dreams and went down the teaching path instead. I think it’s safe to say that in deciding not to save lives, I have saved many lives.
It looks like he’s off till next week now so I suppose I’d better just grit my teeth and get on with it. He’s taking up the whole of the couch just now so maybe this should be my incentive to continue with clearing everything out.
And I’ll try to remember that there are less than 89.5hours to go till he leaves for work again…