Confession: I’d rather babysit the son of Satan than having to deal with my husband when he’s sick.
I would like to know if there is scientific proof that men suffer 100 times more than any other human being on the planet. Does the man cold shrink their balls and make them forget how physically and mentally tough they are? M y husband caught a softball with his face. He ripped is lip, busted a tooth, and had 8 stiches from the top of his lip all the way to the gum.
And guess what dumb dumb wanted to do?
He wanted to finish the game.
But when he gets the god damned sniffles, I’m expected to put a half page ad in the newspaper to tell the city about it.
I lay an egg every month. My birth control will ask my uterus, “Do you really want to house that child?”
And then my uterus answers by ripping its lining out.
We, the women, we take care of ourselves. Cold? No problem. I have to make lunch for my kid, wash the clothes, look at my dog and make him think that I’m going to take him for a walk and when his head jerks to the right and his tail starts to wag, I start laughing because there is no way I’m taking him.
“I’m too busy conquering the world while I’m sick dog. Too busy.”
You know, I blame the moms for creating the man cold.
When they’re kids, we as moms give them all of the love we have. We stay by their sides no matter how many times they shoot half of their brains out of their cute little booger crusted nostrils at us. We forgive them when they spit their medicine in our faces because, “Mom that tastes like shit.”
And we don’t care. We will walk around with half of our hair stuck to the side of our cherry smelling cheeks and old tissue remnants tucked into our pockets that we will eventually find in the dryer balled up into a million pieces.
But when you pass that point when it’s getting awkward to swoop in at the first sign of those sick droopy eyes and you put your young adult son on your teat, then you’re lowering their threshold of any pain that’s inflicted upon them from the ”COMMON” cold for the rest of their lives.
You. Breed. The man cold.
Yes, you still give them love, compassion, and the best bland chicken noodle soup out of the can because it magically tastes better when you’re sick. But you also need to put up boundaries. If they sneeze in your face, you punch them in the throat.
Give them a reason to whine.
But with Shawn, I kind of let him be a baby because he has dealt with my shenanigans (as if having bipolar disorder and chronic pain makes for real slap stick humor) for almost 10 years. So yes, I breed the man cold.
However, this time around, he’s taking this cold like a man should. I’m pretty sure that it’s because I’m about ready to buy a one way ticket to crazy.
Oh and I have a golf ball sized crater at the base of my spine.
You read that right.
My back is caving in.
Instead of calling my doctor, I’ve been waiting it out on a heating pad looking for answers on Dr. Google. It keeps telling me that I have only 3 days to live and that was 7 days ago.
I’m beating the odds.
What say you now Google?
Shawn’s been yelling at me to call my doctors but I’m a woman and I can handle it.
Until my sister, the nurse, saw it and she said, “That’s pretty fucking gross.”
So here I am, NPO, watching my kid eat Lucky Charms like a taunting asshole. I’m waiting to see my pain specialist who may give me a xylocaine infusion later today. It worked wonders the last time I had it. The only drawback is, I have to pay for it out of pocket. It baffles me that our Ontario Health Insurance Plan will cover gastric bypass surgery and it won’t cover my pain control.
I think that is total bullshit.
But the hundred and change is worth it if it works.
I see my family doctor tomorrow because I enjoy wasting my life at doctor’s offices.
My kid has a dentist appointment tomorrow morning, I smell like old people sore muscle cream, and my ice cream grew ice crystals.
Look at me, I just turned into a giant man cold that I just announced through a 7 hundred something something word blog post that you just read.
Nuff about me.
How are you?
Do you specialize in ass craters?