Saturday, November 03, 2012


my 10yo and I, blogging together
Today is Saturday. And if I'm being honest, it's kind of a sucky Saturday at that.

The husband is at work {poor guy, he'd rather not be}. The kids are alternating between being loud and crazy and then quiet and content. I am stuck in bed again. Well, not literally. I can get up. I can walk around for a few minutes, so every so often, I get up, and slowly make my way down the stairs. I look at the kids' newest lego creation, I pretend to not see the mess, I ask them to reach something I can't (I still can't get my arm up all the way). In the backround, my 13 year old has her new iPod playing all her favorite songs.

I am in a crabby mood. I want to be able to pick things up, to vacuum  to get some laundry done, to clean the counters. As it is, I can't really push anything, I'm not supposed to lift more than 3 pounds (related: how the hell am I supposed to know what is 3 pounds? For real? I mean, other than the clearly marked 5 pound bag of sugar in my pantry, I have no clue). I am feeling useless.

I try to eat ... my stomach is still pretty picky and I'm not sure I can tolerate one more saltine cracker or bowl of plain, white rice (that is slightly overcooked, but I try to keep this complaint myself because others are serving me the best they can). I watch some netflix. I try to get comfortable, but frankly my butt and backside are sore and I still can't manage to lay on my side. I play some iPad games. I wonder if I should boast to my kids how I just got to level 50 in DragonStory - they'd think it was cool, but on second thought it only depresses me more. I only get that high because I can't really do anything else.

I eye my knitting ... I'm working with a lovely shade of blue yarn. It's gorgeous. And it's soft. I'm itching to work with it again, but my arm is so stiff and sore. I decide better to not try, then to pick it up and just frustrate myself with not being able to do it.

I watch more netflix. I get up and putz around some more. I change my shirt - which is a huge feat in my mind. Of course, I pull my arm funny in the process, so I look at the clock, hoping it's time to take some more advil - it's not.

I come back to bed. And am angry at myself for being so angry about all of this. And I'm frustrated that it feels like this is taking f-o-r-e-v-e-r. I mean, really, shouldn't the tissue expander have given me bionic-woman-like qualities? It would have been nice if I had woken up from surgery and been able to, I don't know, run a marathon, jump over houses, have an extra arm to clean the house faster with? But, no. Apparently I got the version that turns a person into a whiny, crabby, cup-half-empty-kind of person.

My daughter comes up, ready to write her blog post for today. So, I, following her lead, come to this blog, to dump it all out here, to save my family from having to hear all my bitching.

And maybe just maybe, after I hit send, I'll try to knit a few stitches, just to see. And I'll watch some more netflix, make another trek down the stairs to walk around and get my daily "exercise" and tomorrow? Tomorrow is another day.


  1. So sorry you're sidelined, my friend, and dreading soon facing some limitations of my own. It sucks. But know that you WILL be back to yourself, and in the meantime, you are worth serving.

  2. Well said! What did you watch on Netflix?


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