I’ve had a less than gracious fall from Fab🤾♀️to Flab 👵🏼 in 8 weeks. This must be having a big impact on my better half. Especially as it took no real effort, was an alarmingly simple transformation in fact, and I’ve been its main protagonist. In this period I’ve descended into an easy inertia, become a sloth 🧟♀️ addicted to TV and with little prospect of immediate improvement, unless of course there’s a miracle 🧞♂️ around the corner. Stage 3 hamstrings can have that affect on you and the entire household is suffering.
In all honesty, it’s not been that difficult to lie in one place for 8 weeks, that is the crazy 😜 part. This speaks volumes about how debilitating it’s been because prior to this injury I was an active 50 something menopausal 😨 woman working my ass off to get to a happy place with the way I looked. I was cycling 🚴♂️ up to 30- 40 miles weekly. I was playing badminton 🏸 regularly with my old schoolmate and walking at least 4 miles a week 🚶♀️ with my ladies. I had my hair 💇♀️ coiffed and dyed very 6 weeks and nails 💅🏼gelled every four. Be assured it was not always ‘ladies who lunch’ after all you have to do something physical to balance that level of indulgence 🍷. But in the past 8 weeks all of that has fallen by the wayside.
Mayhem 🌪 has replaced the ambience of peace 🌞 and tranquility that envelopes The Danders and the surrounding community. I usually do all the food 🍱 shopping, cooking, gardening💐, planning and anticipating pretty much everything that happens with our home, family and other key events. I buy cards, presents🎁, do the gift wrap, review menus, plan and prepare meals, when necessary I look after my grandkids and my mother, maintain friendships, plan our social calendar🎉, entertain, book holidays✈️ and of course work, which is all pretty central to balancing my world order. Not that my husband does nothing; he golfs 🏌🏻♂️, manages the bin 🚛 rotation and collection (for the entire street), golfs, ⛳️ does the cleaning, washes the car and, oh yes, golfs 🏌🏻♂️.
Now the size of the commitment and endeavour necessary for effective bin rotation and management🚚 cannot be underestimated. Just ask my son-in-law! He gets weekly texts to remind him which bin 🗑 has to go out. My man is a living encyclopaedia on weekly refuse collection. So, how bad did it hit him when in the very early stages of my incapacitation, clearly stressed, he actually put out the wrong ❌ bin? (I’m blaming the chaotic new world order that now prevails) However the entire street, who having bowed to his superior knowledge on all matters refuse, did the same thing. So no-one had their bin emptied that week.🙀
Joking aside the injury and ensuing incapacitation has transformed 👾 his world completely. Of course he still manages to golf,🏌🏻♂️ but he’s been thrust into a new world🌎 order with little preparation and he has embraced it. Albeit standards were likely to alter during this period. For instance last Sunday, on his rare day off, I put the chicken 🐔 in the oven, and roasted the potatoes 🥔. Unbeknown to me, as I lay prostrate resting, he put the veg 🥦 onto boil a tad early and became engrossed in the football. So we had charcoaled brussel sprouts and carrots🥕 for tea. My pots will never recover no matter how hard he scours them. I’m no good at being a passive member of any team and there’s nothing worse than looking after someone who keeps 👼 noticing things, like the table needs polished, or the carpet needs hoovered, maybe those windows could do with a clean………..and perhaps that veg was put on too early.
So, I’m still confined to barracks. I’ve not had my hair done 💇♀️ in a while and, although the nail technician 💅🏼 came to me, the previously toned legs now have the appearance of dried up asparagus 🎋; lean, knobbly and wrinkly. Not charcoaled but then not fab, not at all. Despite my obvious fall from power, despite the additional burden he’s carrying and the constant need for attention, I’m grateful he has managed to maintain the equilibrium in our lives and thankful that through it all somehow he still manages to love ❤️ me………….