This month, our home has been shrouded in illness. Each week a new bug, just as I'm recovering from one sickness my battered immune system is plagued by another.
Nights have been spent on the bathroom floor before my cold, fatigued body has dragged itself back to bed in the early hours.
Finally I recover, but it's not long before my Handsome Man has taken my place.
There is nothing like feeling sick to make you notice the small things. The fetching of glasses of water, of sick buckets - just in case, the offer of holding your hair so it doesn't get covered in vomit (miraculously we have somehow avoided the vomiting bug that has been making the rounds recently... touch wood), the encouragement to eat something even if all you have is dry toast, the hand that reaches round you to pull you in for a cuddle, to warm you in the early hours.
We have spent many an evening curled up on the sofa watching a movie because I haven't had the energy to do anything else. My M.E. means it takes me longer to recover.
I am so grateful for his patience, for his care, for the little acts of love on a daily basis. He is my Handsome Man and I feel ridiculously blessed and lucky to be able to say that.
He is mine and I am his.