Arm's Length

So, hubby just got done with yet another medical appointment (he should host Mystery Diagnosis with all the stuff he's got going on with his bod). When I picked him up from the appointment, there were several ominous signs that something was desperately wrong:

1. Instead of getting in the front passenger seat, where I had a pretzel and an Orange Julius waiting for him, he climbed all the way back to the third row. Please note: Hubby doesn't climb. Ever. Although once when he mixed two un-mixable medications he did hurdle the couch. And I have it on video.

2. He told me one of us would have to sleep on the couch tonight. Hmmm, guy with bad back or girl who's 6 months prego. You be the judge.

3. I winked at him in the mirror and he told me not to get fresh, that I wouldn't be seeing even so much as a hug from him anytime soon.

Impending divorce? Nope, radioactive husband. It's true. The doc told him that he was radioactive from the test he just had and that, since I'm pregnant, he has to stay at least an arm's length away from me for at least 24 hours. How big of a dose did they give him, geez!