I have had a bit of a week.
On Monday I threw myself at the roof terrace in a bid to break the back of the chaos that inhabited it and render it usable for us and the babe in the sunshine that we were enjoying. I hauled pots of soil, dug up half a meadow's worth of weeds, cleared debris and rearranged everything neatly. I swept, bagged and tagged.
It's not finished but it is looking clearer and neater and I was pleased. And I'd done it quickly too, so a pat on the back for my efficiency.
Until I woke up Tuesday morning that is. I could hardly move! It is a couple of years since I've done that kind of speed gardening and my muscles were screaming in protest, even my hands from where I had been lifting heavy bags of rubbish up and over high railings. I felt a wreck. Also, somehow, I had managed to sprain an ankle. I blame my flip flops which I should not be allowed to wear as I am simply not competent on them.
Oddly, as the week progressed, other muscles decided to get in on the act - yesterday one dorsal muscle went twang - and by Thursday only a hot shower first thing was getting me moving and I was struggling to pick the babe up safely. Unsurprisingly I have been feeling a tad sorry for myself, especially since the babe has also been teething ferociously (third week and counting) so sleep is something of a distant memory.
I haven't been able to do anything other than get through the days and so it is lovely to get to today and to start to feel less pathetic! I'm even starting to think about meal planning for next week which I have been a little slack about of late.
One thing though, it has made me extremely grateful for my normal good health and mobility.