Yesterday I was tired. I was stressed and sore and I had had it. That feeling seems like a hazy, happy dream compared to how tired I am now. Grumpus lived up to her nickname. She was fussy and needy, and I had to work to give her all the attention she craved. Sitting with her on the floor did my old bones in. She fought her naps with the strength of a thousand oxen.
I imagined I would take a nap once she went home. I was wrong. I had only gotten started by that point. I had dinner to make, dishes to wash, stairs to climb, things to carry. And then, once I thought I was really worn out, I remembered that I needed to change the sheets on the bed. (I woke in the wee hours to the sound of Athena barfing next to my shoulder.) I spun the mattresses around, to keep them from spending too much time compressed in the same places. (I don't have enough experience with memory foam to know how often to do this, so I err on the side of more frequently.)
So here I am, too tired and sore to sleep. Too tired and sore to stay awake. But at least a lot of deferred maintenance around here is done. I can comfort myself in that while I lie awake.
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