Why It's Not Cool to be Married to a Sympathy Spewer

I love the Guru. I honestly do - more than words. Hence the whole marriage and baby thing.

And there are many things I love about him: his eyes, his sense of Humour, his butt, his ability to fix anything computer related, his ability to open jars and mow the lawn without shredding his toes.

But I have to say, there's one major thing about him that makes me want to email the Husband.com people and ask them to review their programming.

The Toddler is getting her molars, and she has a bit of a cold at the moment. On Saturday night she wasn;t well...and it began in the car.

We had just left my parents place after a BBQ with some friends up from Adelaide...the Toddler was in her car seat, Shrek was playing and everything was fine. 2 corners later, everything was not so fine.

You know how it works. The coughing, the splutter and then the tell-tale gagging. The car was swerved into the curb and I was promptly unbuckled and shoved out the door to get to the Toddler (yes, you read correctly, he took my seatbelt off and even opened the door for me...but it wasn't so much chivalrous as it was desperate and panicky).

I open the back door to behold a small child who's dressing gown, pyjamas and car seat are now coated in congealed milk and undigested chunks of watermelon. No mysterious carrot chunks though. Awesome.

I got in the back seat with the Toddler and wiped off as much as I could from her face, and tried to keep her calm.

But it was difficult to remain composed when I had Swerving Charlie driving the car, with all the windows down, hanging out the door gasping for air and eyes as big as dinner plates. The panic had set in.

Because the Guru is a sympathy spewer.

Of all the things to be sensitive to, it had to be spew. Seriously, if he couldn't handle poo, blood or phlegm I would be more sympathetic. Aside from the poo, the other items you don't really encounter too often (hopefully). And I do 98% of the poop duties anyway, so it wouldn't be making life any messier.

But when it comes to vomit, and the knowledge that I have to deal with it alone, all I want to say is "take a cement pill and harden the f&*k up, buddy".

So we make it back to my parents place and the Guru runs inside the house with the speed of a squirrel on caffeine.  I'm hoping that a) he had enough time to put the handbrake on, because he didn't have time to turn the car off, and b) that he's getting help. Any help. For the love of god, GET HELP!

I pour the Toddler out of the car, and strip her off on the grass. My Mum quietly appears behind me with a blanket, scoops up the Toddler, gives me a squeeze and says she'll take care of everything.

I turn back to the car while my Mum takes the Toddler in for a warm bath and a change of pyjamas, and view the damage. Thankfully it's not gone any further than the car seat, and the car won't smell like spew for a month. Because the Guru would LOVE that.

Meanwhile, with me up to my armpits in vomit, the Guru is nowhere to be seen. Bastard.

I completely understand that with his crippling infliction he would be zero assistance, but some moral support just by being in the same postcode while I deal with the 'unpleasantness' would be better than nothing.

When we finally head home (again!) I find him sitting in the car, and given that everything coated in vomit is now OUTSIDE the car, all the windows are up, the doors are LOCKED (just in case the smelly car seat tried to carjack him...) and he's even got the heater recycling the air from within the car.

He views the Toddler with fear - am I sure she's not got any spew on her? Am I sure the car won't start to smell again? Am I sure I won't smell of spew and make him sick?

I answer "yes", "yes" and "yes" with a mental note of 'I'm sure I don't smell of spew, but I might punch you and make you feel sick anyway'.

To wrap up the remainder of the evening, we made it home without incident, the Guru flicking his glance back to the Toddler every few seconds - just in case she tried to launch a surprise attack on him.

We get home, and after another vomit session I decide to sleep in the loungeroom on a make-shift 'vomit-proof' bed with the Toddler.

If I had to tackle bedding or anything with vomit on it while a fully grown man cowered in the bedroom, again, my sanity might have slipped away forever.

Thankfully the rest of the night was vomit free...which gave me ample time to decide on an appropriate punishment for the Guru.

So tell me, what 'sympathies' does your significant other have that drive you mad?  Please - let me know that I'm not alone...