It’s too cold outside. It’s too warm inside. I start the night cold in the bed. Gibs wakes me up, and I find I’m sweating under the blankets.
At work, I can’t concentrate because the heater makes my office too warm. Thus making me sleepy. But if I turn off the heater, it’s too cold to type.
My jacket is too heavy when I’m outside. But if I take it off, I’m freezing. I want to eat warm, comforting soup but when I prepare the food I realize I no longer want it. A cup of tea sounds lovely, but halfway through I wish I’d made cocoa. The Man and I lovingly start cooking a meal together. Before it’s over I want to strangle him because the rice noodles turned out all wrong.
Honestly, it’s like I don’t know who I am these days. My body is just as foreign to me now as it was when I first got pregnant and right after delivery. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was starting perimenopause at 32 years old. Almost 33 years old if I’m honest. Gibs has been on the outside as long as he was baking on the inside. Is that how long it takes for my body to regulate?
Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe it’s just winter. Maybe I need a real vacation.
Maybe once you become a mother, you never feel right in your skin again.