Having time to yourself is still exhausting
Last night I made it to the gym.
I’d cobbled together a gym kit of sorts in the morning and went to the leisure centre on my route home.
I hadn’t been to the gym since wifey was pregnant, and it brought back memories of independent easier times. I found an empty cross trainer, set a gentle gradient and got to it. 40 minutes and 5.5Km later I staggered off. Legs wobbly, body sweaty and my heart beating like a fucked clock.
Through the pain there was a good feeling buried within, one I hadn’t felt for a long time. Proper physical exhaustion. Knackered from actually doing something instead of not sleeping.
I felt I’d achieved something for me for once, something again I hadn’t felt for a long time.
I staggered slowly home to meet wifey and daughter and was soon in the usual routine of helping feed, burp and comfort baby.
I found my usual burping technique of bouncing baby on my knee considerably harder and sat on the sofa feeling drained. The first few gym trips are always the hardest but I was wrecked. Like everything in the baby adventure, I’m sure it will get easier in time…