The Truth About Men

It’s a known fact. It is. Truly. My Beloved, will on occasion admit to it. Most men won’t. I suppose that makes my man a better man than most.

The simply truth is: When men are sick, men are babies.

Large, whining, moaning, sighing, BABIES!

God, in His infinite wisdom, gave woman the ability to suffer through the most arduous of stomach bugs, and still have dinner on the table by 5:30. She’ll have the bathroom cleaned, read a book to the babies, and probably have run to the grocery store. I know this for a fact. Not only have I done it, I’ve seen it done, by my mother no less.

I can be fairly compassionate and I seldom say what’s really on my mind.

(Oh, hush, it’s true!)

Then yesterday it struck me: Ladies we create these monsters!

Yes. It’s true! My boy (ooohhhh poor, poor Boy!) is recovering from having his wisdom teeth removed. It’s not fun and one certainly doesn’t feel very well after that. As I fussed and ran around, catering to his every need I realized the hard truth of it all: my future daughter-in-law is going to hate me.

Hate me I say!

Here I am, dithering about trying to keep Boy comfortable when, frankly, he could probably do some (not all) things for himself.

And it’s not just Boy I do this to! I do it to Girl too! Heck I’ve even done it to Soldier Girl during her pregnancy with the Game Master! Oi!

I’m not alone…am I? You do it too. You fuss and feel their foreheads. You run to the store (for the third time that day) for ginger ale. You’ve set the alarm and gotten them medicine in the middle of the night.

I know you have, because that is what women do.

Which leads me to wonder if the world would be better if we left these poor men to fend for themselves…

Nah…they’d be cranky as all get out and sick. They’d probably declare war on Tonga.

Dear future daughter-in-law,

Please know I did the best I could. I tried to be a good mom and sometimes I probably over did the nurse thing. I’m sorry I spoiled him. I’m sorry he’ll whine and make your head pound. You can always come to me and complain about what a baby he is. I’ll understand. I have the prototype (his father).

But know this, I’ll be watching just to see if you’re the same with your babies as I was with mine.

Love, Mom