Last week I wrote about needing quiet. Guess what? The very next day I had one of the quietest days I can remember having.
It happened to be Valentine’s Day and it was also the day I visited my dentist for a very unpleasant procedure. Well, anything to do with dentistry is very unpleasant in my books but an extraction has to be the worst. And a wisdom tooth extraction? The very worst. Actually, the very very worst would have been a lower wisdom tooth like the one I had pulled out the day I started writing this blog. But I digress…
So I went back home after the deed was done and tried to carry on as usual but as soon as the anaesthetic wore off, so did my lopsided smile. The pain and the persistant bleeding forced me to bed. Truth be told, I was still shaken from the whole ordeal. Give me childbirth over a visit to the dentist any day! And I’m pretty sure my dentist would rather undergo an extraction himself than have to deal with me and my hyperventilating.
Then the husband came home from work, made sure I was comfortable, changed out of his uniform and proceeded to take over all duties. He picked up Maia from school and kept both girls out of the house for the rest of the day. I could lie in bed watching Mad Men, try to pass a spoonful of yogurt (thoughtfully supplied by the husband) through my clenched teeth and wait for the bleeding to stop. Eight hours later and I still felt like I was bleeding to death. So he came back home, put Robin to bed (Maia slept over at my ever-helpful parents) and got me a bowl of soup which I slurped noisily. I felt like a nonagenarian, I’m telling you. Through all this, the husband rubbed my neck, had words of encouragement and a smile on his face.
And that, my friends, is what they call love.