When my husband had flu recently, my friend who is a doctor warned me that there would be a period of depression when he got better. I told him this and he didn’t believe me. He would be fine. My husband doesn’t get depressed. If there’s any depression floating around, I’m THERE, I will have it, but not my husband.
He got better. He was still very tired. He needed to take it easy. He went back to work. There was a lot to do. He felt depressed.
He wasn’t himself at all. He just didn’t care about anything. He didn’t want to do anything, nothing mattered. He was so not himself that it was almost funny. He knew he was doing it, knew the depression had hit him, but he was and couldn’t do anything to fight it.
I am SO glad my friend warned us, because otherwise I’d have probably been quite cross with him for his attitude.
Rewind a few weeks and my husband, in his infinite wisdom decided (apologies to the in-laws if you’re reading this) that, as we weren’t going to see his family until 28th December that we could get their presents in the sales on the 27th. Now I wasn’t sure about this. I’m not a ‘everything wrapped in October’ type of person, but I do like to be ready for Christmas BEFORE Christmas. I’m just funny like that.
I could see his point of view – we could buy twice as much for the same money, the same amount for half the money, or something in between. The downsides were the sales are often full of crap and, what should have been a relaxing day between Christmas and travelling for our second Christmas, would be a stressful day filled with shopping.
Well, my husband and boys weren’t well enough to go shopping on the 27th – or well enough for me to leave them while I went shopping. And they weren’t well enough to go away on the 28th either.
So, on the 3rd January, with the sales well and truly over and my husband back at work and suffering from post-flu negativity, we went shopping in his lunch break. For CHRISTMAS PRESENTS. It wasn’t an enjoyable experience.
Nor was wrapping presents at 10pm on 4th January after a day of cleaning, taking decorations down, removing tonnes of recycling, packing and looking after three kids.
My husband couldn’t see the point of Christmas. Or presents. Or January.
It was the flu talking, but right at that moment, nor could I.
Is it spring yet?