Sometimes he has a strange way of showing his love.

I went to the lab to have my blood drawn the other day.  You know, where they drain half your bodily fluids in one sitting to test you for everything under the sun (don’t forget to eat something before that appointment).  I made the mistake of bringing my husband along with me.  He had the day off and we were running other errands, so I just thought we’d swing by together.  Big mistake.  I’ve already established that my husband is an obsessive compulsive germaphobe with borderline paranoia (and I say that in the most loving way, because I really do love him for all these little quirks…they are just trying at times).

He can’t help it.  It’s not only in his nature to check EVERY CAN of tuna, soup, etc. 20,000 times before buying it/eating it/letting me eat it, it’s also his job.  He works for a government health organization, and let’s just say, he knows more about food, diseases, germs than anyone needs to know.  I mean, I believe that there is such a thing as not exposing yourself to enough germs and being a little too cautious…but alas, I will probably die from botchulism poisoning because of my carefree attitude toward food safety.  Funny thing is, my husband will probably already be sent to an early grave from the stress induced by my bad habits….eh, I digress.

So this lab isn’t making a good impression on either of us from the start.  It smelled, well, not sterile, but more like sick people.  And it wasn’t cold enough.  It felt like the perfect temperature for bacteria growth.  Even I didn’t want to touch the magazines.  When I was called back I told my husband to wait for me up front, but he insisted on coming.  I was hesitant because I could see the wheels turning in his head.  The paranoia was bubbling to the surface.  When I gave him a look like, “you better not do anything dumb,”  he responded with, “What?!  I just want to be with you for this, is that okay?”  Well, what wife can say no to that?

I had to skip to the loo to give my urine sample, and as I walked back into the room, sure enough, I found my husband accosting my lab tech with a string of RIDICULOUS questions.  Primarily, he wanted to inspect the needle before she stuck me with it!  Well, he actually made the mistake of calling it a syringe, to which our barely English speaking tech with a thick what I can only believe to be Russian accent replied, “Excuuuuuse Me?!  Dees ees not da stone age, sur.  We do not use dee syringe, sur.  Eeet ees all very clean.”  Well, this just pissed him off.  “Oh, okay….excuse me.  Can you just show me whatever you are about to stick in my wife’s arm.  I just want to make sure it’s sterile!”  Meanwhile, I’m already strapped to the chair, where I can clearly make out that all the needles are coming out of obviously sterile packages.  I looked him dead in the eye and said. “Shut the fuck up. I’m going to make you leave this room if you do not stop.”

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I know this place wasn’t the epitome of cleanliness in the waiting room, but the room we were in for the tests was absolutely fine, and I wasn’t too keen on him harassing the woman who was about to jam me in the arm with a needle, especially when I have the good sense to tell when I should and shouldn’t question my own lab tech without his help.  The look she gave me when she turned around from arguing with him to finally draw my blood was like, “WTF?!  You’re in for a long nine months, lady.” I could only hang my head and think, “I know…I know.”

I know this is only him controlling what he can, and I feel so blessed to have a husband who wants to be so involved in the whole process, but ladies, let me tell you, I’m afraid there will come a time when I will need to drug him so that I can keep my sanity.  Is there anything out there that will induce a deep sleep for 8 months?

And I will end this by saying we laughed about it the whole way home, and we will never return to that particular lab again.

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  1. HA, your screwed Jill and OMG your poor child! Will he/she be able to play at the park, OMG what about the sandbox!

    LOL, love ya girlie and your over the top husband! maybe our husbands should exchange phone numbers so they can bitch about how we are “killing” our kid(s)!


  2. Cute. Obsessive compulsive, but cute.

    And yup, you’re screwed. Especially when the baby is born – because trust me when I say the word fluids. Fluids everywhere.

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