I was so sick yesterday. I made it - barely - through the first soccer game, but I knew there was absolutely no way I could stand on the sidelines for another hour. After checking with the coach, I left my oldest to play his game and went home to lay down. Don't worry. Hubby made it home in plenty of time to go watch the end of his game and pick him up.
Me? I was in bed.
Call it a virus. Call it the flu. Either way, it wasn't pretty.
Even though I haven't - you know - in the last 12 hours, I can still feel the effects. My stomach is plain tore up!
All I could think of, though, while I moaned through several miserable hours, was how difficult it must be for those women who don't have a wonderful, loving, patient husband who takes care of them when death seems like a reasonable alternative. I can't even begin to express how thankful I was for my hubby yesterday. He didn't only take care of me, but did the dishes, packed up the youngest for an overnight trip, and fed the oldest dinner. More impressive, he kept the boys a safe distance from the germs - let's hope it was far enough away to prevent anyone else in the house from suffering the same fate.
Truly, how do the single moms of the world do it? Or the single dad's for that matter? And what about those who might be married but can't count on their spouse for much of anything but derision and complaints?
Sometimes it's when things are at their least pretty when you realize just how lucky you are. And I am damn lucky.