EEYORE AND TIGGER

 
I have got to be one of the worst wives in the world. Don't believe me? You will by the end of this post.

I read something fascinating once -- probably in Jodi Piccoult's book, My Sister's Keeper -- about what it's like to have a chronically ill sibling. About how you are never allowed to get angry with them, no matter what they do, because, well, what if they croaked right after you had a tiff? Just think how awful you'd feel! I'm beginning to understand what she meant. For example, the last several nights in a row, my hubby has done his cocooning thing, where, in his sleep, he ootches over right next to me until I'm hanging off the edge of the bed. Then, a little while later, he suddenly rolls all the way back to his side of our king sized bed, taking all my covers with him! Now, normally, I would fight to get them back, but he had his man-purse rolled up in that cocoon with him, and I feared that if I were to yank on the covers, I just might yank that PICC line right outta his arm or, at the very least, put a kink or air bubble in it. So I shivered instead.

There's also the fact that the man who used to sleep ten hours straight each night, then be happy to sleep away half the day if you let him, has been getting up earlier and earlier each morning. He's disrupted my sunrise ritual for the last several mornings, and YES, I feel like a total b!+@h for even mentioning it! But the thing is, if my ritual gets disrupted, I end up not writing in my journal. And, when I don't write in my journal, I end up with nothing to blog about. And, when I don't blog, well, let's just say I get a little grumpy.

So, this morning, after getting only four hours of sleep, I woke up and decided to go ahead and sneak out of bed. Hubby was over there snoring away in his cozy little cocoon, and I thought to myself "Surely, if I get up this early, I will have time to eat breakfast and do some writing before he wakes up." But, no, 'fraid not. Halfway through eating my oatmeal, here comes Squeedunk, flipping on every dang light in the house.

I can't tell you how shrewish I felt, to be letting something so silly get to me, and make me feel so grumpy. After all that poor man has been through! I mean, what if he didn't wake up? But there it is. Now you know. And, the thing is, I've always been the Tigger to his Eeyore. We balanced each other. What I fear is, if we're not careful -- if I can't at least talk about how I feel -- well, we're gonna end up with two Eeyores living together, and then what the heck are we gonna do?