Taking care of baby

We've had some sick folks at our house this week, as mentioned previously. But the title of the post does not have to dowith taking care of my sick small child, who seems to have recovered rather nicely. Instead, the baby I am referring to is my DH, the love of my life, the man for whom I've forsaken all others. Yes, DH is sick. Sick as a dog. Sick as in I'm-not-going-in-to-work-I-don't-care-if-they-fire-me-I'll-be-dead-in-the-morning-anyway sick. The official diagnosis is strep-throat and severe dehydration, which is actually a relief. Those are things that can be treated. We were worried that it was a relapse of mono, that hideous disease that took him down his third year in law school. Right now we are cheering for antibiotics. And I have to say, I used to like taking care of my husband. I recall an incident right after we were married when he got sick, and I did everything necessary to bring him back to optimal health. I brought his hot Thera-flu, I rubbed his neck, I rubbed his feet, fetched him water, brought him drugs (seems to be theme in our family!), all that stuff. He looked deep into my eyes and said, "Wow. I love having a wife. You're the best." Hmm. Things have changed a little bit since then. Somehow I'm just not as sympathetic when my dh gets sick. Maybe the arrival of our son changed my attitude, the thought, "Now I have to take care of you TOO?" Maybe we've been married long enough that I no longer have to go to great lengths to prove what a great catch I am. Maybe it's the thought that when he's sick, he gets to take a day off work and lie in bed and watch the special features of "Return of the King", but when I'm sick, puking my guts out with a pregnancy, or burning up with fever, he says, "Call ya from the office later!" and skips out the door while I'm begging, bleary-eyed and delirious, for him to stay. Or maybe it's the whining. My husband is normally an energetic, happy go lucky, peacemaker kind of guy (his arguments on Times and Seasons notwithstanding!). But once a germ gets a hold of him, he turns into a quivering, shaking, helpless, whining mass of humanity. The simplest tasks paralyze him. I even had to call the doctor for him and describe the symptoms because my usually overarticulate husband could only manage a weak, "Umm...uh-huh-...I think...it's...yeah...I'm sick." Anybody else have these problems with your eternal companions? Actually, DH is on the mend, for which we are all grateful. Yesterday he took a shower, put on clean clothes for the first time in 3 days, and I think he even brushed his teeth. But still, I wait for the plaintitive cry from the bedroom: "Heather, do we have any Thera-flu?"