The day after I got home from the hospital, we got hit with a stomach bug. Charlie got it first, which meant I had to take care of the baby (even though I was supposed to be resting and not lifting anything heavier than 10 pounds). He didn't seem too sick to me, at the time, so I got pissed. I seem to always get the shitty end of the deal -- it was supposed to be my recovery time, time I'd planned to use on video projects, photo projects, reading, and oh yeah RECOVERING FROM SURGERY. Instead, I was playing nurse to a whiny 35 year old baby. The worst was when I came in from wiping down the windows outside, and saw Charlie running from the den with his hand over his mouth. He threw up EVERYWHERE. And when I say everywhere, I mean: on the couch, on the floor, and ON THE GODDAMN BABY. Austin was literally covered in vomit. It was the most horrific thing I've ever seen. I snatched him up, stripped him, gave him a bath, all while he was screaming and crying, all while Charlie kept barfing. (Why he chose to barf in the kitchen sink, I have no idea.)
So after cleaning up Austin, I had to come downstairs and clean up nine million gallons of barf. I sent Charlie upstairs despite his protests (he was trying to clean up barf with paper towels and nothing else). I think my exact words were, "Charlie, this is one of those times when you need to just shut up and do what I say."
Of course, he felt a million times better after barfing, and was on his way back to normal within the next twelve hours. But who can guess what happened next? That's right...sick baby. Austin was throwing up the next day, and poo-sploding through his diapers, and not eating, and getting borderline-dehydrated. He refused to drink anything, couldn't keep down formula, and had no interest in solid foods. Can't say I blame him!
Austin had been sick for about two days when I started to feel lousy myself. And sure enough, I ended up barfing and pooping and not wanting to eat...I ran a fever for days; when it finally broke I sweated so badly I had to change pyjamas twice. I'd like it noted for the record that none of my barf ended up anywhere except a trash can or the toilet. I've also realized that I am officially a Mommy because I cleaned up after everyone without so much as gagging once. Barf is now just another neutral bodily fluid.
Here we are on Friday, and everyone's well (knock wood), the house is getting back under control, and it's all starting to feel pretty normal again. It's not really how I wanted to spend my first two weeks of recovery time, but oh well.
In the midst of all the sickness and poop, Charlie and I had a pretty wicked argument that involved a lot of yelling and crying on my part. I was really upset by how little effort he was making to take care of me, despite the fact that I was taking REALLY good care of him. I don't like to play the martyr, and I really don't do things for other people just so they'll do things for me, but it's nice when there's a balance. And things have been very out of balance here for a while, not just during our week o' sick.
It was my choice to stop working, and I knew full well the financial consequences we'd suffer as a result. As I've said a thousand times, I am happy to sacrifice and scrimp and pinch to stay at home with Austin; I'm NOT willing to do it just so I can hand him over to a day care facility and go spend 40 hours a week at a soul-sucking job I hate. I'm just to a point now where I feel like there's nothing else I can give up -- I haven't bought clothes for a year, I don't splurge on groceries (at my best I can get us all fed for about $100 a week), I don't insist on eating out or dates or movies, I don't ask for ANYTHING. And yet Charlie often treats me like I sit on my ass all day thinking of ways to make us broke. His behavior was making me think that he felt I didn't do any work. During our argument, I explained to him how I felt, and how I needed him to understand that I actually work a lot. To his credit, he seems to have taken the conversation to heart, so all I can do is hope that things get better from here. I know there are things I need to work on, too, like being OCD about housework. Charlie told me that he often just doesn't do stuff because he thinks I will criticize how he's done it. Of course my first instinct is to say, "Well, if you would just do it my way, you'd be fine." But that's not terribly productive, now is it? I do feel like I should have the final say on housework, since I'm the one who does most of it and I'm the one who spends the most time at home, but I have to compromise. Have to. Don't want to, really, but have to.
In other news...Charlie's now sporting a buzz cut. I found out that he's been spending $20 a month on haircuts. It's not a lot, I know, but every dime helps these days. So we picked up a set of clippers at Target, and I gave him a haircut myself. I used to cut all my NAVY guy-friends hair, so it actually turned out pretty well. I'm also hoping it will help him stay motivated to work out; it's a very "fit guy" haircut. He has to cut his body fat percentage in half by August in order to get back into the military, and I am determined to do whatever I can to help. We're supposed to be reorganizing the gym later today so there's actually room in there to work out.
I'll be spending the rest of the day doing indoor work, seeing as how we're back into drizzly March-grey weather. Bleh.