I may have exceeded my rationality quota

Okay - I'm sick. And spectacularly sick at that. I woke at 3 this morning with strong pains and wondered if babby was planning on making an early arrival.
An hour later I realised what I was mistaking for the miracle of childbirth was actually a particularly nasty stomach bug. I have been puking - and moaning - ever since.

Now you would think that after 8 months of hyperemesis I would be well used to the puking by now and in so many ways I am. I have mastered the art of the casual vomit - which is the ability to run to the loo mid sentence, puke, then come back and finish the sentence as if nothing untoward had happened.
I have mastered puking in work, getting cleaned up and making sure my hair remains vom free, before going back to my desk and working on a witty line or two for my column.
I have become - and this is something of an achievement for me - a master puker.

But today is different. Today I feel absolutely pants. And being sick makes me feel more sick and I've taken to weeping and wailing while my stomach turns itself inside out. I am not a good patient.

But I knew the hormones were getting to me when the boy was sick also (although he seems to have recovered now) and then the husband declared he was feeling a bit peaky.
Did I lavish on maternal and wifely love and concern? Did I mop their brows and offer to share my sick bucket with them? Did I soothe in the way a wife and mother should?

Well, with the boy I did a little. I shooed him downstairs with his duvet and have allowed him free run of the DVD players and enough ice lollies to shake a stick at (fluids, you see. Very important). I have cuddled him after he's been sick.

But hubby... and here is the shameful part... I guldered (and that is a Derry word for barged) "You can just feel sick!"
Not my finest hour by a long shot. But I just felt a little like "Can't I even puke on my own?" in a highly pregnant irrational stylee.
In fairness he now feels better and has been a perfect nursemaid.
Perhaps not the best valentine's weekend in history but I guess at times like these you realise what really is important in a relationship - and the ability to deal with a wife doing her very best beached whale impression, moaning and sweating, crying and puking and being a bit of bitch is right up there.
So while I wasn't intending to share my love this valentine's weekend on the tail end of a post about vomit - here's to you Mr. Allan - my knight in shining armour. And if you want to feel sick, please go ahead...