Superman

I live with Superman. Actually, I'm married to him; I guess that makes me Mrs. Superman, but without any super powers. I don't know where he hides his cape, perhaps under that scarf he's always wearing, but I know he must have one. In the last two weeks, Damian has taken care of me while I was sick twice...and once he was sick himself. First, we both had a stomach bug last week and even though he felt absolutely rotten himself, he kept me fed (when that became an option), hydrated, and as well-rested as possible. He got up with the kids, went to work, picked up Gatorade, apple sauce, etc., and brought it to me in bed. And then this week when I almost died from mastitis (okay, I may not have been near death, but it felt like I was), Damian rushed out to the pharmacy, got Ellie fed and in bed (with the help of Jay, who I called in for reinforcement because the doctor wanted me to go to the ER), got up with the kids, got Ellie to school, came home early, brought me dinner in bed, etc., etc., etc. I am so, so lucky to have such a sweet, caring husband! I don't know how he manages such a demanding business and such a demanding (and lately sickly) wife, but I'm so glad he does. I've never felt so loved as when he put a trashcan next to my bed for me to be sick in and put a bathmat by the toilet to protect my knees -- that's love!. Thank you, Superman. xoxo