February 19, 2016

I exercised yesterday, for the first time in about three years.

It hurt like whoa.

It was also, Daniel decided, an epic time to throw an epic tantrum. He screamed for twenty minutes straight, begging me to pick him up and hold him/feed him/stare at him/anything. That was deliciously fun and distracting...so it helped me through.

 

So then I had trouble sleeping last night. My whole body ached. I couldn't figure out why.

 

Actual thought process: "Oh My gosh. My stomach feels crampy. Maybe I am pregnant. No, can't be. Wait. I have the flu. I MUST have the flu. I am soooooo sick. I must be sick. My back hurts. Maybe I have a slipped disc. My neck hurts. I must have some type of spinal cord injury. I should wake Matt up. I definitely have meningitis. Or cancer. OH MY GOSH! I'M DYING! What will happen to my children?!?! What will Matt eat for lunch tomorrow?!?!?! oh wait. I just exercised. I'm fine."

 

I need therapy.

 

December and January

December and January just flew. FLEW.

 

And I am kind of grateful. Because we were sicker than sick. And there were a great number of trials. including a broken septic system and cars in and out of the shop and less sleep than I can ever remember not getting.

 

So here we are, halfway through February, and I am making another feeble attempt to resurrect the old blog. Again. You know.