Now that it has contracted down, my swollen tummy is a bit more of a jiggly tummy, still rocking preggie clothes, and sporting a moon boot from fracturing my ankle — my body so broken from the last few months, my leg just snapped like a twig when I rolled off a curb trying to walk an unsettled baby. Where did the last eight weeks go? In a blur . . . a blur of feeding, sleeping, pumping, learning to juggle both children and work in among it all. Am exhausted, like bone-aching exhausted. I am lucky to have the knowledge I do of good food to nourish from the inside, but I am still human. I do have chocolate, I do have coffee (lots of coffee), and dinners are sometimes baked beans on toast. I don’t have time to shower, so no, I DON’T make my own baked beans.
Sometimes I wonder, why the hell did I want this so badly (previous blog from the trenches here), but for the most part, I love it, stupidly love it all.
