HUSBAND: Tigger? Tigger? Are you getting sick? Tigger?
Tigger the Dog, doing some copious licking, did not respond. Husband fumbled for his phone and turned on the flashlight aiming it at the crate.
HUSBAND: Tigger? Tigger, leave it. Leave it!
Pulling himself out of bed as he shouted, he stuffed his feet into his slippers and tried to stop TTD’s do-over meal. Not bothering to open my eyes or move, I asked -
ME: Did she get sick?
He stumbled to the door, unlocked it and stomped down the hallway.
I prized open one eye at peered at the clock. Five something. I lay my head back down, eye closed for a quick moment, the intent of an offer of help fading quickly as I fell back into fuzzy sleep.
Husband came back and tried to get TTD the dog out of the crate. She was confused. He was sharp. I was useless.
ME: Just pull that bed out and put it on top. (I mumbled) I’ll clean it later.
And fell back asleep to the banging and clanging of the crate. Husband clomped out of the room and back in with her other bed. TTD was reluctant to leave the crate. Trying to be helpful, I suggested he take her outside in case she needed to be sick again but really so they would be quiet. Off they stomped. I was going to get up then and fix her dog bed but my back decided that it would wake up angry. I lay there trying to convince the stupid thing it was fine, listening to Husband open the door for the dog and encouraging TTD to go out for a pee, and fell back asleep.
I woke up when they came back into the house, my bladder now joining the conversation my body was having with my brain. I was ashamed I hadn’t moved to help Husband - and yet, the shame didn't spur me into doing anything but lay there and think about it. Husband and dog came back into the room and as he shoehorned TTD into her crate just as my bladder won the battle to move over the bitching back. Husband was standing outside the door when I finished, waiting for his turn. He was not cheery. I apologized as I waddled back to the bed and groan rolled myself in, trying to get my back to stop talking to me. Back from the bathroom, Husband threw himself onto his side of the bed, pulled the quilt around him - mostly off me - tucked it in around himself and let his unhappy thoughts of resentment at my lack of participation settle about the bed. I snuck a look at the clock. Six something. Crap. Time for me to get out of bed and start on today’s list of “ I should…”
It's much easier to get up when the waves of hatred and righteousness are permeating from Husband’s side of the bed and you're missing the comfort and warmth of the quilt. Oh, and all the puke has been dealt with. Of my list of “I should…” from yesterday, number one was wash TTD and clean all her beds and toys. She was, as usual, not at all pleased with the bath. Like a good female, she stored it up and let it out at an inopportune time. No matter, I’ll forgive her eating grass and puking on her clean bed if she can play a smile onto husband’s face later today.
After he’s slept and forgotten that I just lay there and didn’t help one bit during this morning’s crisis.