Heartbroken

Let me first quickly say this is not about our impending adoption. You may now all exhale.

When we went on our cruise this summer, Tim commented more than twice (probably somewhere around 2 zillion times, in fact) how nice it was to not feel like he needed his allergy medicine. He did great in Vancouver. He did great on the ship. He did great in Seattle. Then we got home and life was, once again, miserable. But we were all suffering...it was fall in Virginia, after all.

Shortly thereafter he went on a business trip to the frozen north (Massachusetts or somesuch northern place) and commented on how it was so nice to not need to double his allergy doses. But it's cold there, frankly I'm surprised people can survive, let alone allergens.

Last week, he went on a business trip to South Carolina. And while there, in the state that, while we lived there, caused him to curse all things allergy-like because they wrecked him every which way to Sunday, he commented how nice it was to not feel like he needed his allergy medicine. And something in me started to shrivel a little and cry "uh oh!" (not unlike a Lemming just before it explodes.)

This past week, he went on a business trip to Baltimore...same thing. No allergy medicine, life is free and delightful and his sinuses were clear. Then he came home. And within three hours of being home he was rummaging around in the medicine drawer and grumbling about his stupid allergies (to which the kiddo helpfully piped up, "We don't say 'stupid' daddy!")

I'm slow on the uptake, I'll admit it. But really, it seemed pretty clear at that point. Either Tim had grown allergic to me and the kiddo, or he'd developed an allergy to the dogs. And so, to test the theory, today the dogs went to live with my parents (though they may split their time with my sister, and/or they'll split them up and one will live at my folks and one at my sister's). We'll still get to see them plenty, but I'm heartbroken. Sure, they drove me a little nuts, but it's hard to sit here in the office and not hear the tapping of nails on the floor as someone sneaks around looking for a spare scritch or something to nibble.

And so we've become, essentially, a no pet household. (He's already deathly allergic to cats. We have the fish, but really...fish are not pets. At best they're mobile decorations.) I know, in the grand scheme of things, life could be a lot worse...but it's killing me just a little inside.