Are You a Nurturing Wife?

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Are You a Nurturing Wife – Or Just Plain Over It?

It has been almost three weeks and Baddy is finally out of bed. Adding an injured or sick husband to a mother’s already frantic life will push mommy to the edge of the edge. Once again my placement as the youngest girl in my family comes into play. I was not raised to take care of people. I was raised to be the cutest and most adorable charmer, and to be taken care of.

I have come to terms with that since I have started my own family. I will break from my past and become a more nurturing person. When Baddy and I were first married he was the most nurturing man. When I was sick he would sit by my side filled with concern and give me massages. When he got sick I put by his bed a glass of water, a magazine and a thermometer and fluttered off for the day. After all, we all know that men either go down harder than woman or were so pampered by their mothers when they were little that they think a sniffle is the end of the world. Either way, I wasn’t buying in to it. I had been sicker than that and still had to cope with my life, out of bed.

He soon hardened to my aches and pains which brought me to the realization that I had to change and be more loving. My first introduction as a caring nurse was when so enwrapped in digging garden beds for his beloved wife he fell off of the side of the cliff we lived on. We kept the truth of the accident quiet for as long as possible, lest we taint Baddy’s reputation.

When Daddy Comes Home From the Hospital

He came home with staples in his knee and plunged into deep depression. I wasn’t even feigning concern as I tried to move him outside for some fresh air, 10 blankets later and many complaints of being too cold, I moved him back inside. Caring was fucking stressful!

This round, my first thought when I was informed that I had to take him to ER was, oh shit here we go! I had just started my web-site and was in the throws of an obsessive state. I did not have time to tend to anybody’s needs at the moment. But I was no longer Nurse Ratched. I massaged his back all night long and slept in a cramped position to keep my “healing hands” on his wound while he slept. I would go to sleep or wake up at 4am. The stairs were my energy release. Up for water and ice pack, down for kids meals, up for pain killers, down to scream at the boys to stop playing football in the house, up to lather on my progesterine cream and say a little prayer to whomever was listening – HELP ME GET THROUGH THIS!!!

Baddy improved only to push himself too far, and down he went again with muscle spasms in his chest for 48 hours. Not wanting to feel useless he would emerge into the boys room bent over in pain as I was putting them to sleep, “I can reeeaaaddd to them (muscle spasm),” he’d attempt, when all I really needed was for him to take the rest he needed to get better.

It is so good to have him back and laughing at me again without pain expressed all over his face. I am begging him to take it easy and get strong again. Mommy needs a huge break so that I may refuel before the next injury occurs in the family. I don’t think my family agrees with me.

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