So many things I want to write. But my energy levels have been at almost zero from the time I open my eyes to the sound of Sophie and Bella playing or crying in their room to the moment when I finally curl up in my bed and take a deep breath and let go of all the tension that seems to be the only thing holding me together.
Reading. So many books on my to be read shelf. But I’ve skipped over them all and am indulging in re-reading my favorite Georgette Heyers. No edifying Advent books here, I’m afraid. They hurt my head and make everything spin. Oh well.
I have a list of book reviews to be written as long as my arm. Many begun and half-written. But none finished enough to post. Oh well.
Housework has slowed to a crawl. A load of dishes drains me. Yesterday I accomplished a couple of loads of laundry. Two meals, breakfast and lunch, for three people, each eating a different menu—mine needs to be heavy on protein and not make me gag, Bella has her own tastes, Sophie has to avoid allergens. I brainstormed an idea for dinner and Dom cooked it. I swished out the toilet bowl with bleach and felt like I’d climbed a mountain. Other than that I don’t think the bathroom has been cleaned since we moved in. But no vacuuming. The needles and leaves still clutter the front doorway as they have the last week. Oh well.
Yesterday I realized how much I’d been snapping at the girls, running out of patience. Bella lay on the floor of the laundry room, rolling around and asking me to help her sit up. As if she were a helpless baby like Sophia. So we had a talk about being a big girl. And then I found some time for an extra cuddle and some stories while Sophie was napping.
I have so many things that need to be done. I need to find a doctor. I need a haircut. I need to drop books at the post office that have been waiting two months to be sent out. But instead I curl up and take a nap. I read a book and try to hold back the nausea. All the things that need to be done will somehow get done. Those that don’t will somehow wait.