My kid is trying to kill me

You probably don't want to hear about how Sam generously shared his GI bug with me or that my body decided to one-up it by attaching a nasty cold at the end of it. You also likely don't want to hear details about my father-in-law's standing room only memorial service which was lovely although I found the impromptu words over his coffin at home more comforting and personal. Please note the memorial service was sandwiched between the GI bug and the cold so it's likely I'm not doing it justice.

I'm still sufficiently foggy-headed with the cold that I'm likely not going to write a very coherent entry so cut me some slack. Eh, I guess reading the blog in general means you're already cutting me plenty of slack so I'll just carry on.

Sam has been clingy lately. Very clingy. His cling methodology has changed to one that gives me the heebie jeebies and I hate feeling that way about something he's doing when I know he means it affectionately or at least possessively. He has decided that it is imperative that he have his arm around my neck whenever I'm lying down next to him. It sounds sweet and charming but as soon as he does it I have a mini panic reaction and want make him remove his arm.

Where does this come from? I don't know. Once I went to the doctor because I had bronchitis. He decided to check for swollen glands in my neck by wrapping his hand around my throat, thumb on one side and fingers on the other. I pulled away in panic. I couldn't breathe for such a long time he ended up giving me a shot of adrenalin to get me started again.

Perhaps I shouldn't give you a recipe for how to kill me and make it seem innocent.

At any rate, that was the first time I realized I had an issue with things around my neck. I can't think of anything that would have precipitated the fear but since that time I've avoided neck contact situations with success. Until now. Until Sam.

Now I lie there for a moment with his arm around my neck and try not to panic, try not to grab that arm and toss it away. I gently (and sometimes not so gently) ask him to remove his arm and he sometimes does it with grace, sometimes not. Oh, the relief when the arm is finally gone.