My day is almost done. The boys are in bed. That is where I want to be too.
I know that this is the time of day I should get everything done I couldn't do while they were awake, but I just want to sit and stare at the wall. I know that I operate in survival mode most days.
I figured out part of my overeating is an extension of my survival. I eat while I can, all I can because I might not be able to later. But I do later, though maybe not when I want to or what I want to. I eat everything I prepare for these guys. Which by the way is three meals and two snacks, but not always at the same time. And then I eat my regular stuff. I eat while the eatin is good, because oh I don't know, perhaps the end of the world is near and I'll have to live off my fat stores.
And then I'm tired. So tired. I don't know how to shake it. The baby actually sleeps through the night, which means I get anywhere from 6-8 hours of sleep.
I know. Excercise. The healer of all that ails. I excercise. On a semi-regular basis. I have to tell you about the Korean Nazi personal trainer at the YMCA, but I'll save that for another time. I think I need to sleep.