I caught Paul’s cold and I’m miserable. Last night my tonsils felt like they were bursting out of my throat. Some people actually welcome the opportunity to stay in bed with a box of tissues watching I Love Lucy reruns (which is what I did as a kid and what I did last night), but I don’t. As an adult with kids I dreaded getting sick because I always had to take care of the kids by myself. My family was on the opposite coast and my first husband was a work-a-holic who was never home. I can remember having swollen glands and a temperature of 103 with an infant and a toddler and still he would work until 11PM. It was awful.

That was then. This is now, and Paul is sooooo much different. When I’m sick, not only does he act and look concerned, he actually takes care of me.  He cooks dinner. He makes me tea and he will go to the store and buy me soup if I asked him to. What a guy. What a difference. I shouldn’t bash my ex because he was going through his own sexual identity turmoil, but I didn’t know that a the time.

I feel much better today not only because I am tanked up on Sudafed and Tylenol, but because my hubby is in town and I have the comfort of knowing that  when he gets home tonight he will make dinner, clean up the kitchen  and bring me tea.