Thirty-one days, thirty-one posts.
Showered and got dressed at four pm today. Why? Maybe because I wanted to wear my pajamas for bed again, and knew they needed to be washed after wearing them for eighteen hours straight. Maybe because I was tired of my hair looking ratty, and knew the only thing to fix it was a good shampoo, conditioner, and curly hair routine. Maybe because I knew that for the sake of my mental and physical health, I needed to go outside for at least a few minutes, and only "real" clothes would do.
These days seem topsy-turvy. I'm not sleeping well, which means I'm tired during the day. I don't seem to gather steam until almost lunch. I only manage to accomplish one or two adulting tasks before dinner, the simplest chores taking me twice as long.
It's occurred to me that having a hysterectomy is not unlike having a baby, having done both. The body is in healing mode, insides rearranging to inhabit newly available space. Days and nights are mixed up as meeting the needs of both baby and mother come first, all other tasks made subordinate.
Whatever the similarities, it doesn't change the fact that in two-and-a-half weeks, that four thirty alarm will ring again. It may be time to start inching back toward that schedule.
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