I'm also making sure he keeps bags of frozen peas on his knee so it doesn't swell or gawd forbid, hurt. Hubby dear, is not so great with the pain part of surgery.
I've babied and pampered him like only a devoted, loving wife could. The other day, for example, I gently unwrapped the huge, bowling ball-sized bandage from his knee and cleaned the three surprisingly small incisions. Then I re-wrapped his knee in Saran Wrap so it would stay dry when he took his first shower in 72 hours. And it actually worked!
Afterwards, I helped him dry off and applied three Sponge Bob Band-Aids over the tiny holes. He felt so much better, although he was not crazy about my choice of bandages; but hey, you work with what you have. I parked him, again, in front of the big screen TV, elevated his foot above his knee, with his knee above his hip, just like the doctor said to. Last, but not least, I applied two bags of frozen peas for the five-hundredth time. He gave me a big kiss and thanked me for taking such good care of him.
That's where the guilt comes in.
My husband knows I would go to the ends of the earth to make him happy and comfortable, and I've proven it in more ways than just the 14 bags of peas in our freezer. But what he doesn't know is that his "nurse" is hiding a carton of Dibs Mint Chocolate Ice Cream amongst all those bags of frozen peas that I keep insisting are changed every hour on the hour.
It's like this.... The Dibs would cause quite a ruckus in our household because I banned all ice cream from our home last year-- as I started gaining weight-- when I turned fifty. Seriously, no ice cream, whatsoever, except Rum Raisin, and who the heck cares about Rum Raisin! I sure don't. Bless his heart, my husband went along with the ban to be supportive. It helps that he actually likes Rum Raisin and can eat it directly from the Haagen-Dazs carton since no one else will touch it; but he often comments that a little chocolate would be a nice change.
My guilt began with the knee injury. I stressed out about his surgery, and stress drives me to eat sweets; and when I spotted the Dibs in the frozen food aisle opposite the vegetables, I swear, I heard the angels singing-- cheering-- calling my name-- Nurse Joanna, we're here for you! And I bought a big tub of those calorie-laden mint ice cream delights all covered in chocolate, despite my constant bitching about my expanding waistline. It was just one of those moments and well, ice cream happens.
To make matters worse, I have not shared the Dibs with my poor, sore-kneed husband. In fact, he doesn't even know they are in the house-- Which technically they aren't. They're hidden in the extra fridge in the garage, behind all the frozen peas.
Oh the guilt. The shame. The increased stress. So, when I went to the grocery store to pick up new "generic" Band-Aids today, I bought another tub of Mint Chocolate Dibs because I'd eaten all of the first bucket without sharing a single nugget with my beloved, and well, I wanted more.
Here's the dilemma-- I did not buy plain Chocolate Dibs-- his favorite, I bought Mint Chocolate Dibs, which are my favorite. So not only am I hiding banned contraband, I'm also blowing the whole devoted wife award by not being all that thoughtful about my "patient". The Dibs were an impulse buy for me, not a "my husband would loves this buy" for him.
I know. I'm a bad wife....
So, should I tell him-- share some-- fess up and "own" my ice cream shame?
As I sit in the kitchen typing, the Dibs only a few yards away, I'm thinking long and hard about my decision-- Right up until my husband hollers "Honey, I need another bag of frozen peas please!". I gulp down a couple of Dibs, wipe the cat-who-ate-the-canary smile off my face, and take him his frozen peas-- Just, frozen peas.
On my next trip to the grocery store, I'll buy him his own carton of Chocolate Dibs.
What would you do?
Welcome to TheFityFactor - Joanna