I'd like to blame it on the season - we all know that responsibilities are quadrupled this time of year, right? Add to that keeping up with daily exercise, twice-a-week PT, solo-parenting for a week, participating in and even spearheading after-school and evening activities and events - well, even if I weren't eleven weeks post-op, I'd be dragging.
So I have been trying to take it easy, but it's just been too tempting. And there's this little problem of there only being 24 hours in the day. I've been pushing through, I'll admit. A little draggy before spin class yesterday? No matter. A mug of gunpowder tea, throw on the spandex, strap on the heart rate monitor, and I was there. I did the class, met a friend, came home, showered, met L. and a friend at school, hosted a play date, made dinner, dealt with reservations, signed up for a class, and fell into bed around 10. Nada problemo, right?
Well, wrong. I can do more today, but my body is really nagging me. It's like a toddler's pulling on my pant leg, whining, "When are we gonna lie down? Is now when we're gonna lie down?" So after I did errands this morning, I realized I needed to call the rest of the day off (until I chaperon the Brownie field trip, that is - but that, my friends, is a non-negotiable). So I have. No Pilates lesson for me, and although I know that this is the responsible thing to do, I'm pissed off about it.
Remember how I was content the other day? Well today? Not so much. There - see? We knew that'd be short-lived. I guess I should clarify - I'm still OK with the foobs, yada yada yada: I'm just frustrated that I can't have it all back right.this.minute.dammit.
But whoa, step back, perspective time. I just closed out 10 weeks post-op. I've been told by more than a few experts that it will take a year to feel completely like myself again. I know I'll be doing more, well before that time, but I'm still at the front side of the continuum of sitting on my ass . . . to racing around like the maniac I am.
My PT says it, over and over again: "Mother Nature is in charge, Sarah. We have to let Mother Nature do her job." Sigh. Just like you never want to admit your mother's right, so it goes with Nancy the PT. But often, both the PT and the mother know best.
So I'm crawling into bed for the next hour, 'til I have to help shuttle 18 8- and 9-year-old girls through Whole Foods Market and talk about nutrition. After which, I will come home, perform the bare minimum of duties to satisfy my own maternal obligations, and collapse into bed. And tomorrow? I'm giving myself a time-out. 'Cause I can't stand a whiny toddler.