But we still played fort under the afghan on the couch. It’s crazy how fun that is.
Although it is unfortunate that my dear husband has to take it somewhat easy when we play because he has asthma. And he especially has to take it easy when his prescription refill takes a few days to come in.
It’s hard to take it easy on him sometimes, because I don’t know what it’s like to be sickly. Because for me, I feel great when I laugh until I can hardly breathe. For him, hardly breathing is a little more serious. Even though I know he’s having a lot of fun with me when we’re laughing like that, I hear the wheeze start a little and I feel responsible, so I calm down. We still continue having fun, smiling at each other under the afghan or whatever, but he needs more frequent breaks from the mayhem than I do.
His asthma could be a lot worse, so we are fortunate. But when he was a kid, he could only open one birthday or Christmas present per hour or else risk over-excitement and asthma attack. And he was a sickly child, and frail. Luckily for both of us, he is a sturdy manly man these days, and can handle more excitement at a time. But he can’t ignore the asthma, so we always play responsibly.
I love my husband, and when he gets itchy, wheezy, stuffed up or otherwise miserable, I wish that he didn’t have allergies, asthma or eczema. And I’m often amazed at how often he doesn’t even pay these things any mind, when I will see him react and know he must be uncomfortable. It doesn’t phase him at all, really, and I admire him for living well with these inconveniences, although I wish he didn’t have to live with them, period.