Yep. I’m not back up to snuff yet.
I thought I was. I had such a surge of energy yesterday, a delirious, intoxicating rush of competence and ability and determination, that I was deluded into thinking that yes, my body had fully recovered itself from the exertion of 12 days previous, that running a marathon wasn’t out of reach like it had been a week ago, that my full self was finally back and conquering the world fully within my grasp.
Today showed me that, alas, this was most certainly not the case. After relatively “normal” activity — a third of an hour at the park, and the remainder buying a few groceries for the house — my energy plummeted suddenly after my lunch, during Tobit‘s lunch, enough to have me shaking myself awake every few minutes, babe in arms, and finally relinquishing the little one to the safety of the crib, because my grasp was no longer the safest place for a child that small. I tried to manage on a 30 minute nap, when what I really needed was no less than two hours, and I’m still moving at less than normal speed, feeling less than my normal self.
It will return. It will. Patience isn’t just to be practiced on the newborn, but on myself as well.
The culmination of yesterday’s festivities was convening with other writers of First Fig, which, among other things, produced a septet of verse, and inspired this more florid prose.
Edited to add: I’m also writing haiku.