I know that being busy is not a status symbol. Neither is exhaustion.
It was a good day, very good. I felt well loved, in a little bit of a Velveteen Rabbit way, soft and worn.
We all met on the couch in the morning, cartoons on, three boys around me. And on me.
Maybe it should be called Smothers Day? I have reached the joyous (slash humbling) revelation that my body may never be mine alone. Perhaps it's okay to cultivate this matronly shape, cushioned in all the right places to comfort heads and accommodate elbows.
I know I need to be nice to my body, considering it's the only place I have to live.
I got to take a long walk over the weekend. Several miles, all by myself. The first real "exercise" I've had since I got permission from my doctor last week.
I devote most of my hours and most of myself to them. It is my immense privilege, my very honored pleasure. But I am looking forward to getting back in the pool.
I know that my perspective creates the powerful current we may all have to swim against, or the one we get to stroke with.
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