So my husband had a minor surgery friday morning, this meant that we were down for the count this weekend and I was head nurse in charge. I love my husband more than a room filled with designer bags so I had no problem what so ever doing this, in fact I really enjoy taking care of him.
However, I wasn't prepared for the self awareness that I was going to undergo during this process.
Friday night I made chicken noodle and grilled cheese sandwhiches and we settled in with medicines and movies for the evening, falling asleep around 10:00 Sat. morning I woke at around 6:30 to get him breakfast and med's. I made haste of laundry while he watched endless episodes of the "First 48" on the couch. By dinner I could feel the change happening, and by change I mean my crazy ass, energy filled, loose cannon alter ego that I surpress most times emerging from within. You see without proper socializing and activities my CRAZY can't come out gradually. All this domesticating and caregiving had literally caused my CRAZY to erupt like a swedish volcano all over my house hold.
It started with my husband asking me a question and my response coming out in a Scottish accent, and quickly turned into an irish gig being danced on the coffee table to the backround music of random tide commercials on television. Before I knew what was going on I had convinced my husband that we should only communicate in pig-latin because it was the lost language of our generation, and that kilts were a male fashion that had never fully seen it's hay day but was sure to come with Obama in the presidency.
For sake of arguement it's safe to assume that I am a bit of a handful. Luckily my husband is attracted to crazy and did not run to the hills but instead just went with it.
'll tell you one thing, although shocking, I was really glad to stretch my cookadoo legs and still be accepted by the one's around me. It's a cool feeling. Time to bottle it back up and save it for a rainy day.Cheers to everyone and have a great day!