The best thing about going to the hospital is the free water bottle they give you.
I'm not even kidding. Depending on the nature of your stay (the only time I've ever been admitted was for child birth) they give you a wonderful, sturdy, 32 ounce water bottle, complete with straw and lid.
The water bottle in question is the reason I have to take several bathroom breaks every night but I don't care. I love it and so does Stephen. I share, but he has already claimed the souvenir water bottle we'll get for our second child.
Every night, the last thing I do before bed is fill my water bottle with lots of ice and cold water and we both take a big gulp before we go to sleep.
Last night, due to working fifty hour weeks for year's end, Stephen was so tired that he kept falling asleep during a movie we were watching. Finally I asked if he wanted to turn the movie off and just go to sleep, to which he yawned his agreement. So I filled my water bottle and handed it to him for his nightcap.
Stephen was so tired he forgot to take into account that the lid has two holes in it for the straw and he tilted it back to drink while lying down. By the time I looked up, half the water had spilled onto his shirt and the sheets.
"Honey!" I warned, but he had realized his mistake. Well actually, he realized his mistake from the beginning but was just too tired to care. But when the water started collecting at his chest and back, his eyes shot open and he stared straight up at the empty void as he lay there, petrified.
"You have water on you!" I unnecessarily pointed out.
At this point Stephen was still half unconscious but aware enough to realize that sub-zero water was seeping through his shirt and against the sheets onto his skin.
"Get. It. Off." he commanded in a low growl.
In my mind I responded "What am I, a sponge?" but for reasons even I don't know I reached toward the frigid puddle on his chest as if I could somehow clear the water off him without making it worse. I never reached the puddle though, because at this point the cold finally got to him.
He let out a noise that started as a low moan but in a matter of seconds escalated to a pterodactyl scream and leapt off the bed. He did what I can only describe as a Native American war dance while simultaneously spinning in circles, flapping his arms like a chicken, and ripping off his shirt in one fluid motion. All while screaming.
Somehow, the baby slept through all this.
Stephen, now shirtless and traumatized, did his best to dry the sheets with a towel but in the end, we had to use the blow dryer.
So after that little detour, we finally settled into bed.
"Honey?" Stephen asked.
"Yeah?" I replied.
"Can I have a sip of your water?"
