venerdì, gennaio 25, 2013

Enormous weakling pussy

Taking a break from running today. And not because the rainy season has finally hit - running in the rain is pretty nice - no flies trying to malinger on you or sun getting in your eyes. And not because I don't want to be running. And not because I can't; we have a few more precious days of Mum and she does try to shanghai the baby at every opportunity.

No, I'm not running today because I can't. Midway through the route I'd planned for myself yesterday my knee started hurting and I cut it short, and I know I have to take at least today off. It's only sensible. I'm big and fat and post-pregnant and haven't ran for a year, and my knees are crappy. No use taking a stand over it.

But you know what? It makes me feel like an enormous weakling pussy. That's a feeling I'm trying not to feel and certainly won't act on, because being willing to act on that feeling is what makes men dumber than women. Nonetheless it's kind of pissing me off. After Mum leaves on Thursday this is gonna get a whole lot harder.

Oh well. We're spending the Australian winter in the Canadian summer so things'll get easier again, and in any case it's just three more months or so until I can take more regular breaks from being right next to the boy, when he starts expanding his gastronomic repertoire. At the moment such breaks revolve around hoping he finishes feasting on my bosom right at a time when the UV index isn't too high and his father is present so I can get out of the house for a bit.

4 commenti:

e.f. bartlam ha detto...

What a puss.

Your knee hurts? You got two of 'em.

I didn't run today but, it wasn't because I would have thrown up and passed out a quarter mile in...it was because I some ground nails to eat and a filterless cigarette to smoke.

Dread Pirate Jessica ha detto...

Running sounds way too northeast seaboard for you anyways.

y.s.s. ha detto...

I'm with you e.f.

Cigarettes and a hangover are my cure for any inclination to run.

And I get the 'being pissed at being a pussy' Dread/Mistress. Of course you're the superior being who's strong enough to recognise you've got to take a pause. Knee replacements are never as successful as hip...

You and the bairn bring so many memories back. I fed all of mine. No better reasons other than: why buy the stuff when you make it for free. Maybe mixed with a bit of 'I'm bucking the working class Scottish trend' (a lactation rebel woohoo). With a pinch of: Oh look at my boobies, people - they are truly stunning works of art that can squirt milk 20ft across the room. And a smidgeon of 'I'm too f'n lazy and skint to clean/buy the bottles and the powder'.

I was utterly overwhelmed by Meg (the first). I was 23 and her birth made me grow up. Become powerful. Feel invincible.

Being fed by me became a long habit for them all (they stopped, variously, between 8 mons and 32 mons). The tricky one (no 4) hoovered up milk continuously - he was perma-attached. And hated solids. To this day (he's 12) he still prefers mushy lazy food. And the rest of them give him hell for it.

Your lad will continue to amaze you - every day. It's just the best thing.

Mistress La Spliffe ha detto...

Yep, all of those motives for breastfeeding, particularly the "my super power is making milk!" one, minus the rebellion. My Italian aunts went through that backwards - the ones that got to Canada thought trotting out the boobs beneath them, and the ones in Italy went boobs, so I'm being conservative in the great scheme of things.

Also another . . . I put on around 50 pounds with Godzilla. I need his help siphoning that all off.