I am always annoyed by women who blog about how wonderful and amazing their husbands are.
I don't finish reading those posts usually.
And I never comment on them.
But I, my friend, am also a hypocrite. A hypocrite with a story.
Last night I ate something gnarly. Okay, it was several crackers that, unbeknownst to me, had expired December 10th of 2009. I don't check the expiration date on things like crackers because I usually eat them before they go bad.
Anyway, there was some definite funk going on with these crackers. Shortly after eating a few, I stood up to get a drink. My back itched, so I scratched it. Then my neck itched, so I scratched that. Then my whole body was engulfed in one. big. itch. My ears began to swell, my throat felt thick and weird, and there were hives. Oh, were there hives!
After the initial shock wore off and I realized that I was not in fact dying, Brian and I retired for the evening.
The baby woke up to eat at about 1:45 and I came back to bed around two, but not before going into the bathroom and giving myself a look over. Now my lips were swollen, the hives had connected themselves to one another and were now just one giant raised and angry red rash over my entire torso, but oddly enough, the itch was going away. When I got in bed Brian popped up off his pillow like a jack-in-the-box.
I thought he was asleep.
It scared me a little.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"Yes, I think I'm fine."
"I'm going to go out and buy you some Benadryl. I can tell you need some."
"No. It's 2 am."
"I'm going." (Throwing the covers back and getting out of bed.) "Safeway's open all night, right?"
And that's the guy I'm married too. And I don't think I need to say any more about that.