I lay down on the bed. Just, just for a minute.
It had been a long, tiring afternoon of fun and giggles at the two-year old birthday party. But still, I moved along the laundry, fed the cat, and watered the garden when I got home. Then I really needed a little rest. Chest infections really knock me for a loop.
As I'm lying there, it suddenly occurs to me - I could have a nap. You know, like dads do. Yeah. Yeah! That sounds good. (It is at this point I realise I must be seriously ill, to even consider this an option.) Sure, it's after 6pm and I should be feeding my family. But Hubs is downstairs with Little Boo. He's a good cook, and equally responsible for his child's well-being. Yeah! I can do this! Decision made. I close my eyes.
11 seconds later. (It's like he has radar for me resting.)
I hear the pitter patter of little feet coming up the stairs.
"Mommy, you said you'd come play with me!" (For the record, no, no I did not say that.)
"Give me a couple of minutes please. Mommy's not feeling well."
"Ok! I have to pee anyways."
57 seconds later.
I hear the patter of larger, grown-up feet coming up the stairs.
"Honey, what were you thinking for dinner?"
To be fair, had I told Hubs I was going for a nap, he would have been totally supportive and left me alone. He has never understood my need to keep moving and doing things, regardless of my health status. He knows I'm ill and wants me to rest and get better. So he made dinner and let me sleep. Little Boo? That's an entirely different story.