Sniff Sniff

I'm sick.

Somewhere along the way to hell and back, I picked up a lovely souvenir. A common cold. Now my house is not only covered in baby drool, there is now a trail of mama snot. It's a regular slime fest here.

Since becoming an adult and married, I hate getting sick. Hubby is not good at the babying of a sick wife. My mother rocked at babying me and it's probably why I am such a whinny brat now when I'm sick. She used to prop me up on the couch amidst blankets and pillows, enough to swim in, and fix me a plate of poached eggs and toast. A must for the infirm.

Darling husband doesn't do any of this. In fact, last night I had to not only fix myself something to eat, I ad to make his dinner too. Then I got booted from the comfy side of the couch so he could watch baseball. That's right. He layed claim on the TV on Thursday night. Survivor night. I know.

So, I dragged my sniffling, coughing butt into our bedroom and watched my show on our puny 19" TV. Oh will my suffering ever end?