I always thought I was a decent sick person - the non-complaining, suck-it-up, take-it-like-a-woman no-really-I'm-fine type of sick person. But I've recently come to the conclusion that throughout our relationship, my husband's sweet-natured attentiveness during any of my little coughs and colds has spoiled me. These days, after I come home from work and tuck the Roo into bed, I curl onto the couch while he brings me soup and tea to assist in my battle against The Cold That Will Not Die (TCTWND, if you're into abbreviations). And I must say, it's lovely to be babyied when you're feeing crappy. So I sit there, sniffing and snarfing and asking for more, or just one more glass of water, or perhaps a footrub please, until I eventually pry myself off to perhaps scrub some bottles (thought lately he's been handling most of that too) and stumble to bed.
Evil cold aside, I feel like I've been drifting in a fog lately, as double eye infections have left me unable to wear my contact lens for the past five days (I stopped being contagious as soon as I started treating it last week, so fortunately I didn't pass it to the Roo). So I've been half-blind, and it feels disconcertingly like I'm existing in a dream state from which I cannot wake. Perhaps some glasses are in order, you say? I thought so too, but at my last optometrist visit they told me that I couldn't wear glasses - something about the perfect LASIK-induced vision in one eye and the totally shite vision in the other eye being incompatible for glasses, yadda yadda. So here I am - and I never realized how much I take my vision for granted until I couldn't see every minute detail on Carter's little face. Thankfully, tomorrow morning I have the green light to pop my lens back in and rejoin the human race.