You never know what you’re going to bring home as a souvenir; on this trip, DH brought home a case of strep throat (fortunately, he didn’t get really sick until after we were home), followed by a common but unpleasant cold. And he was about as sick with strep as I’ve ever seen him.

It’s amazing how having him sick is so disruptive. It’s not that he’s a difficult patient; he went to bed at noon one day and didn’t get up until the next morning. He didn’t complain, or at least not much, and he did his best to make sure I don’t catch whatever it is. And he tried to stay out of my way and not mess up my routine. With modern antibiotics, he recovered (from the strep, at least) very quickly. So I don’t know why it should be so disconcerting and discombobulating to have him sick.

Maybe it’s his low energy state. Usually I can count on him to be getting stuff done all the time; I often have to coax him to sit down and watch TV or read with me. But this week, he’s hitting the recliner before I am. Maybe it’s that I’m more worried about him than I’m letting on to myself.

I think we’ve been together for so long that our sub-conscious rhythms and energies are usually in synch, and to have him sick throws them off. I felt like half of me was not quite there; not quite, well, right. I guess he’s more a part of me than I usually realize. Not that I take him completely for granted, but well, maybe I do more than I know.

It’s something to think about–how he and I overlap and become us, and where the boundaries between individuality and couple-dom meet. We’re not co-dependent; at least not disfunctionally so. But we are more together than the sum of our parts.

I’ve had a great week.  My DH has been out of town at a conference all week, so I’ve  had the house to myself. Although I’ve had to pick up on some of the chores he does around the house (Clean the cat boxes, take out the trash, etc.), it feels as though I’m doing a lot less than I usually do. And yet, I’m really not.

It’s just that I’m doing things my way, on my schedule, when I feel like it. I’m eating when I’m hungry, not when he gets home from work. Sometimes that’s at 3:00 in the afternoon. (I’m also not eating when I’m not hungry. This has really helped my diet.) And I’m eating what I feel like eating, rather than cooking a full dinner every night. (Hey, I had string cheese and crackers for dinner last night, and enjoyed it thoroughly.) I’m going to bed when I’m tired, and I’m not trying to be quiet so I won’t wake him up. I’m getting up when I’m ready to; not at 5:15 AM when his alarm goes off. I’m listening to my type of music (quite loud), watching my kind of TV, and eating my favorite foods.

It’s been luxurious and self-indulgent. And it’s made me realize how many little things I change when he’s around. Part of that is just being married, and it’s OK. Common courtesy and consideration is the lubricant that keeps a household running smoothly. But some of it is silly, too. And some of it is definitely negotiable. Do I really have to have a three course dinner every night? Do I really have to limit/change my music listening and TV watching based on whether he’s around? We have more than one room, and more than one television. Although it’s wonderful to do things together, we don’t have to do everything together.

So how are things going to change when he gets back? I don’t know. I do think his presence helps with some self-discipline. I’m less likely to spend hours playing Bookworm or Mah Jongg on the computer when he’s around. I’m more likely to eat better–healthier, that is–even if it is more. But maybe I’ll watch Top Chef, or Project Runway, or What Not to Wear instead of Modern Marvels and MythBusters (although I do like MythBusters). Maybe I’ll listen to Edith Piaf and Josephine Baker, or Celtic music instead of Bruce Springsteen and Bob Seeger. Maybe I’ll eat crab legs while he enjoys something else.

Maybe we can both have the best of both worlds.