Quiet As a Mosquito

My husband wakes about an hour or two earlier than me. Nine times out of ten he's quiet and I don't even know he's gone. 

Today was that 1/10 day.

Random crash. Hacking and coughing. Moaning. Occasional bang. 

POW! ZING! BAM! WOWZA!

"Are you okay?" (Mentally, I answer my own question. 'Stupid girl, he's never been *okay* you knew that from Day 1!') 

"Yeah. I'm just coughing this morning. Why are you up?"

"I heard you coughing." ('Dumbass, your coughs were in Morse Code and spelled out "Wake Your Ass Up".') 

"Oh. Do I have clean pants?" 

('Did you wash any? Did you put them in the fucking LAUNDRY ROOM?! No? Then you just answered your own question.')

"Yes. Check the dryer."

*Cue slamming of dryer door, noise of putting on work boots and grabbing keys.*

 And now he starts to make a sound like a dove, to echo our doves in the tree just outside. As if their loud ass hoooooo-hooo's didn't serve as an adequate alarm clock on a regular basis, now here this man is thinking he's the Dove Whisperer. 

Charming.

He leaves. Sun is shining right in my face. My body is complaining that three hours of sleep just ain't gonna cut it these days. Ten years ago, it wouldn't phase me. Now, I'm damn near crawling to my heating pad.

Bed. Finally.

Bed GOOOOOD. 

"Mom! MOM!"

Holy hell.