You are a true rock star.
On Thursday night when I started feeling like I was getting sick, you already knew that the weekend ahead we had planned was quite possibly about to go up in flames. You didn't even flinch. You just tucked me in to bed and told me we'd reevaluate in the morning.
Thirty minutes later, when the chills started in mixed with a cocktail of achy muscles and a fever, you calmly told me to hydrate myself and you hunkered down for next 24 hours, which I can only call The Day I Felt Like Doo Doo with an Extra Helping of Dukey on the Side.
You held my hand, you went to the pharmacy to buy my Tylenol, a thermometer, and Gatorade three separate times. Like I said? ROCK STAR!
You called your sister with whom you were really looking forward to spending the weekend (Mom, aren't you proud of how that preposition was handled?), and broke the news and you didn't even complain about my silly flu once.
That's right, I have the flu. When I got a little nervous on Friday afternoon about the possibility of it being the swine flu, you did internet research and then drove me to the local urgent care clinic, just so we could both rest easy.
And then you tucked me back in bed and drove to my new favorite Mexican restaurant and bought me chicken tortilla soup because I was havin' a hankering.
You have been the sweetest, most loving caretaker, and I don't really know how to thank you sufficiently.
It was one of those weekends when I so appreciated having a husband who loves me so well. Life with you is exponentially better than life without you. Your love for me is sacrificial, and I love you so much.
This Starshine-in-distress knew she had married an awesome man the day she said "I do", but this weekend she realized that he is a Rock Star-in-shining-armor.
When he said "in sickness and in health", he really meant it, and that makes him more noble than any knight in the land.