I don’t consider myself old though it seems everyone else thinks I am–especially the government and those pesky surveys where they segregate you by age groups. Apparently, I’m now in the last category, 60+. I realized today I’m doing things only old people and new mothers do.
I get up earlier than roosters so I usually let Greg sleep in as long as he likes. Me being me, I start to get fidgety if he’s still in bed past 8am, and I have to sneak back into the bedroom to make sure he’s breathing. It sounds morbid, but I know there will come a day when he won’t wake up–or I won’t wake up.
If he’s too quiet during the night it’ll wake me and I can’t fall back to sleep unless I see his chest rise and fall. Yes, I’ve been known to check for a heartbeat. LOL. Greg is a noisy sleeper, so when he’s quiet, I get nervous.
We do other old people things too, like check on each other if we haven’t heard a peep from the other in over an hour. If he’s in his shop, I text him. If he doesn’t answer in five minutes, I’ll trot over there to make sure he hasn’t fallen off a ladder or electrocuted himself.
We spot each other when we climb ladders or have to do something ridiculously dangerous like wrangle bitey snakes or destroy hornet nests. There are certain tasks I won’t do alone anymore unless he’s nearby, like lighting a brush pile. I’m very careful setting up my brush piles, but they can become monstrous fires in seconds. It’s nice to have a second set of hands with a water hose or rake.
We were more adventurous (or is that reckless?) in our youth. We’d scale buildings and run around the roof without fear, but now–we let the professionals do it. Greg can fix most anything, but I’d rather have him on the ground than risk getting him hurt.
It might sound silly, but I trust my instincts too. I sense when something is awry and it forces me to investigate. Many times I’ve found animals caught in something, or a husband cussing when he has to climb down a ladder (yet again) when I arrive in the nick of time. Only yesterday, I saved our baby goat from getting strangled on a goat stand. I’m handy that way.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who checks to make sure his significant other is breathing. Do you trust your gut if it tells you something’s wrong?