What's Yours is Mine and That Goes for the Lansinoh Too

The most incredible thing has happened Chez Nous. Turns out Hubster and I are suffering from the same injury. Wanna guess what that might be?

Bruised liver from too much wine and whiskey? Nope.

Sprained ankle from tripping over "Cars" toys in the TV room? Wrong again.

And since I don't think you'll ever guess, I'm just going to go ahead and tell you.

But first, I should explain something. See, Hubster rocks. Why? Because when this man makes a commitment to something, he does it. Hence why on Friday night he was outside in a raging thunder and lightening storm running the annual 5K race in the big city.

Any other person might have bagged it and used the weather as a great excuse, but Hubster had told his co-workers, several of whom were running the race as well, that he'd be there. Regardless of the fact that he hasn't run a lick since doing this race last year. In fact, he was on a mission not to train at all, just to see how it all turned out.

Well, it turned out sort of ok. He finished the race better than expected and proudly harassed those race bagging co-workers Monday at work. The only down side is that he was beyond sopping wet during the whole 5K. He jokes it might have been better to swim the course than run it. I swear, four days later, his shoes still have not dried out.

So, how did he get injured, the inquiring mind wants to know?

Well, thanks to the rain, poor Hubster has that lovely condition that new moms (and old moms with new babies) get all the time. Sore nipples. Wearing that wet shirt for 5K caused his poor little buds to get rubbed all the wrong way and he's now sporting a couple of red, sore and scabby ta-tas. Lucky for him, Whoops has been working me over in a similar way for the last 5 weeks so the magic ointment is already in the house.

I'm just so glad that he and I can bond over such a thing. Who's says men don't understand?