Ok, so now that David’s hearing has returned somewhat, it’s time I come clean about why this is really just about ME.
You see, I’d rather pilgrimage to the holy land in ballet slippers than deal with David asking me “What?” 3756 times a day. If I were a good person, I would understand that he couldn’t help it and calmly repeat myself. Instead, I start getting all shrill and exasperated. A few more misunderstandings, and I’m talking back to him Loudly and Inappropriately. And rolling my eyes. And generally acting like he’s learning impaired and I’m the hateful caregiver. With hemorrhoids. Then when he needs me to translate for the children, because their high pitched voices are hardest to hear, I go into full on Asshole of the Year, complete with a trophy and speech and people booing.
And the offspring are watching.
I know, I totally suck.
And also? I can’t be trusted not to mess with him. You know, like mouthing words so he thinks I’m talking out loud. Or saying “What?” back to him, just to be *funny*. Or mistranslate, just BECAUSE I CAN. I’m not saying I’ve done these things, and no one can prove that I have. God, if you are reading this, please heal me.
Hearing Aids, you’re thinking? Not really a good option for David. Because he has hearing in the lower but not the upper ranges (is it ranges? octaves? pitches? I haven’t retained all of the correct terminology, busy as I am thinking about myself), a hearing aid would always hummmmm or buzzzzzz. We’ve been told that it would be very difficult to calibrate as well.
Some people can adjust to this, but David is not one of them. He is a man who labels his socks. Did you know that socks have a right and left foot? Something about the seam, and the big toe, and being stretched out. I could walk around with cockel burs in my socks without noticing, so I’m not genetically predisposed to understanding this.
He is also the one who developed our breast milk storage system, rivaled only by the card catalog. When making Mac and Cheese, he warms the milk and butter together in a glass measuring cup instead of just pouring it in cold like every other American. There is a Method for drying after showering. This man is particular, if you see where I’m going with this. So learning to live with a hummmm or buzzzzzz? He’d have better luck learning to surf on a geyser.
But! The steroids are working, and I’ve turned the shrill down a few notches. Later, I’m going to kick myself in the gut, for being such a jerk.
Thank you, Strong Fucking Steroids, for turning David’s hearing parts into body building, six-packed, shaved and oiled machines.