So yesterday I returned to work for the first time in two weeks. The prospect of missing Big Guy all over again was not one I was looking forward to; the next time we’ll have an uninterrupted week together is Christmas. And as I drove into work, there was no other way to describe my feeling as ‘absence’ – the absence of his voice, his face, his hugs. I really do need to win the lotto, dear reader, so as to be at home for him more. Any spare change? *Rattles can*
I managed, in the middle of my middle-class mum angst, to still stick to the diet. I had a lot to do, and it was clear by about 12 noon that I was only going to get so much done that day. But I broke the back of it and kept on moving. Big guy was shattered by the time I picked him up, and he’s fighting off a cold, so the rest of the evening was spent tending to him and getting him to rest.
Today, Tuesday, I got to do it all again. My mood is getting lower, meaning that the sugar is leaving my system.
Tomorrow features a day of important meetings, and after that I’m determined to do some exercise. It depends on what time we get home, and what we have to do when we get there. Wish me luck.