The boy didn't get around to finishing off the nursery over the weekend, but I suppose he had a really good excuse. I've been sleeping really badly lately, and my nocturnal thrashings about have been keeping my poor love awake too. On Sunday morning he got out of bed really early - it must've been about 6am - and I didn't see him again until I'd got out of bed myself. By that time it was nearly midday. The poor guy was fast asleep in the nursery, cocooned in his sleeping bag on the leather recliner.
But that wasn't all. Once he woke up he complained of having a headache so bad it nearly made him throw up.
Now, ever since I got knocked up I've been a little insecure about how good our life together has been. Maybe it's hormonal, maybe psychological, but the littlest things have been making me see the happy "thing" we have together as fragile, and anyway nothing can be expected to last forever right? When he's late home from work, I worry that something bad has happened on his homeward journey. When he complains of having an intensely nasty headache, what are the chances of it being a brain tumour?
I made him go to the doctor, and apparently he's been suffering from viral encephalitis. It sounds like some kind of lethal tropical disease doesn't it? But apparently there's been a bit of that going around. The doctor said it was on the wane already, and didn't prescribe anything more than a nice, strong painkiller.
So fortunately, life gets to stay good.