My Wife is Tougher Than I Am

I'd like to think I'm tougher than my wife.  I know it comes from a stereotypical machismo attitude.  I think I should have a higher pain threshold or endurance or tolerance than she should.  Why I think this, I don't know.  I generally don't fall too far on the machismo end of the spectrum, or I don't think I do.  Do I? 

So, as I tick off a list of how much tougher my wife is, I realize I'm probably closer to a delicate flower to her bulldozer when it comes to toughness.  First, I think she's been hungry since she got pregnant with the twins.  That would be close to six years.  Six years of being hungry.  Yea, hold on a minute while I get something to eat; it's been almost 20 minutes since I shoved something in my mouth.  She's nearly always the last to eat in our house and often doesn't get to finish a meal (thought that is partly her fault).  And she hasn't been able to eat many of her favorite foods because her little ones have show allergies and she doesn't want to transmit the allergens via breast milk. 

She probably hasn't slept more than six hours straight in those six years either.  Somebody is always waking up, and it usually isn't me.  After a bad night of sleep, which usually means less than two hours of consistent sleep, my wife has a chai tea and powers through the day, occasionally needing a sip or two of Coke.  When I have a bad night of feet to the face or ribs, or when I'm nearly pushed off the bed by an angel, I grumble the next day. And for many of those next days, I get to go to work and hide in my office.  She has to answer the cries of those who killed her chance to sleep -- and eat. 

When she had strep throat, I didn't know she was sick. I just thought she was tired from a couple of bad nights of sleep.  When I had strep. . . well, you can read a bit about it here.  All I can say is at least I'm not high maintenance when I'm sick. I'm just not good for anything.

She does more of the housework than I do.  I know it's a shock that a wife and mother does more housework than a husband and father.  I can make all kinds of excuses here (some more legitimate than others), but I'll spare you the whining.  Of course my desire to whine is yet another indication of my delicate flower status.  She nearly never whines, with the exception of the occasional, brief outburst, which technically isn't a whine.  It's more an expression of exasperation.  She does more of the housework and complains less about it. 

She's never had a day off in six years.  Sure she's had a few hours here and there, but never a day off.  

There is one thing I'm generally tougher than she is, though.  That is weather.  I can't believe she was raised in Michigan.  Once it drops below 85 degrees, she's cold.  My Southern California blood is thicker than hers.  In fact, I don't mind being out in the cold at all.  For hot weather, I think we'll call it a draw. 

But beyond weather, I think she's got me beat.  I suspect I could go on about my wife's cooking, her ability to focus, and numerous other ways she's tougher than I am, but you get the point.  As long as I keep my machismo ego in check, I'm a lucky man.