My Husband: the Toughest Man Alive

In general, I think I'm a pretty tough individual. I have to be because I'm also a pretty spectacularly unfortunate klutz.  I have dislocated and then relocated my own shoulder attempting to ride a dirt bike, I got "bit" by a spark plug in college and tore open the entire back of hand and didn't cry (but I did end up with a scar that looks like a vampire bite), I've been knocked unconscious by my brother who was attempting to golf and sliced a ball right at my head...  So I think I have a track record of toughness (and unfortunate timing).

There is however, one thing that will turn me into a giant snivelling baby. Vomit. My own, or someone else's. But especially my own.

I am one of those people who knows usually about two hours before it happens that it's gonna happen. And I dread puking more than child birth. So I usually end up in a state of depressed anticipation until I can't fight it off anymore and Vesuvius erupts.

Last night, it happened. And it was weird because it was quick. I was laying in bed feeling perfectly average watching TV with hubby. The show ended, he turned off the TV, kissed me goodnight and I thought "Holy crap, I'm gonna puke!". (I've had nausea with pregnancy but thankfully no barfing, so I don't think this is yet another of the joys of pregnancy.) Within an hour I had power-vomited everything I'd eaten for the last 24 hours. And by power vomiting, I mean spectacular, gut wrenching, blood-vessel popping, ear-shattering (did I mention I can't quietly puke??) puking. I think I cracked a rib or something. I actually told hubby before I puked, while I was sitting in front of the toilet that I was a little worried that I'd accidentally push the baby out at the same time, because THAT's how hard I puke.

Let me say here that when my hubby got the flu a few months ago I went and hid downstairs, slept on the couch and buried my head under a pillow so that I wouldn't have to hear/see/smell him throwing up. Usually, just the sound of someone throwing up is enough to make me gag violently. After (not) listening to him throw up for twelve hours, I tentatively called up the stairs "Are you still alive?" all the while having no intention of going anywhere near him or the upstairs for at least an other couple hours. He's a big boy - if he needs something, he can get it himself, I told myself. Wife fail.

Last night, he hovered around me asking if he could get anything for me (I waved him off because I hate people watching me puke.) In fact I don't even like seeing myself throw up - to the point where I leave the light in the bathroom off so I don't have to see anything too clearly.  After throwing up non-stop for five to ten minutes (I'm never having movie popcorn again, btw) I guzzled a glass of water, brushed my teeth and went back to bed. Which is right next door to the bathroom. Where hubby was waiting, having heard everything. "Are you gonna make it?" he asked me calmly, and offered to get me anything I needed.

At which point I looked at him like he was a three headed alien and asked "HOW DID YOU LISTEN TO THAT AND NOT GET SICK YOURSELF?!?!" in complete incredulity. He just looked at me calmly and said "Doesn't bother me" while shrugging. And I think he chuckled a little when he added "But man, did you ever puke for a long time!" If I were him, the bucket next to the bed would have been full, or else I would have been out the window (because to go out the door I would have to walk past the bathroom) and knocking on the neighbours door asking to sleep over.

My husband is truly the toughest man in the world.
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