I have been hobbling along.
Pain is a snake though, and the added discomfort has turned me into a spitting cobra.
The boys don't help: they fight without cease, jump on couches and beds, run through the house and leave piles of messes everywhere.
Son#2 is combustantly explosive.
It's time for the husband to come home, so I can take a breather but also to restore this imbalance his absence has left us with.
All the while I see how I lack my mother's backbone.
She just gets on with it whereas I dream of quick getaway cars and a life in a hermit's hovel tucked into the forest's floor.
Dreaming life away has its place but so does being present.
I never slow down but instead think a hundred steps ahead, which invariably won't add any damn serenity to life.
It's a complicated existence.
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