Even as I write this, my husband is laying flat on the bed with a bad back. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but this time he is in bad shape. Like I-can't-move-or-stand kind of shape. And the rest of us just have to watch him get along the best he can because there isn't anything that we can actually do for him, except ask him a million times "Is there anything you need? Does it still hurt bad? What can I get you?" Because we want him to be as comfortable as possible, our sleeping arrangements have been...well, rearranged. I kicked myself out of my comfortable, dreamy bed last night so he could be as comfortable as possible (I suppose there is no "comfortable" when you're speaking of a bad back), and this mama was not happy about it. At all. Can I just say that being over-tired had something to do with my attitude? But what do you say to someone who is clearly in pain other than "Please let me sleep in the guest room. I mean it. Really." My only problem is that while I'm offering to be nice-ish, I'm gritting my teeth while I'm doing it.
So by the time everyone made it to their beds, wherever they may be, we were all tired. I have no patience when I'm tired. None. Not even the tiniest shred of sympathy or gladness can be wrung from my icy cold heart. I want to sleep. I do not want to interrupted. So you can imagine my heart-felt "Honey, it will be okay" when my baby boy started crying over having to start school. In two days. What? Okay. I care about your concerns. I want to validate your feelings. I know you need a hug and some reassurance. I'll discuss your fears with you.
But not right now.
Right now, I want you to stop crying so I won't feel guilty about walking. Away. From. You. To my bed. In the guest room.
Am I grumpy about this? I might be.
Did I make it evident that I was a touch grumpy by my snappy "Yeah" reply when Gimpy asked me if I was going to be okay up in the guest room? Maybe.
I lightly stomped--barefooted, mind you--up the steps (of course I don't want to wake anyone, I was just reminding my own self of exactly how annoyed I was). I laid my head down on my soft pillow. I sighed. I complained in my head. Again. I snuggled under those warm sheets and closed my eyes.
And I could not fall asleep.
I flipped over. Sighed. Complained some more. Opened my eyes. Closed them.
Still. Not. Asleep.
This is like annoying to the third power.
But as I laid there, I started thinking about the wedding we recently attended, and how the priest reminded the young couple that a partnership (i.e. marriage) requires the participants to put the needs of their partner before their own. And while most couple eagerly agree to do this while standing at the alter, the appeal of putting your partner before you lessens as time marches forth. I know this because I don't like to do it with a joyful heart when it means I'll be uncomfortable. I mean, I'll do it, but my attitude smells like armpits and onions mixed with morning breath. Ick.
So this morning, like so many other times I've acted like a 12-year-old, I had to take a line from Ice Cube (but just a line, the rest of the song is questionable): You better check yoself before you wreck yoself.
When Gimpy was able to make it off the bed and into the living room to give me a kiss this morning (he does not harbor ill will in his heart overnight like I do), I felt refreshed (that bed in the guest room isn't so bad after all)--and maybe a little bit guilty for being so snappy and stand-offish the night before.
"I'm sorry my attitude smelled like armpits and onions and bad morning breath (ick). I really do want you to be as comfortable as possible. I'll do whatever I can to help you recover! And by the way, don't read my blog post today. I called you Gimpy."