Life is sweet when you’re coming unglued

I am looking out my window at a dust bunny colored sky and craving soup instead of exercise.  Potato soup to be exact- made with real bacon and butter.

It has been a little over a month since I had surgery to repair a “ventral” hernia – doc speak for some of your innards poking their way through weak spots in your abdominal wall.  

To repair mine they made a two-inch slice vertically over my belly button, stuffed my escaping viscera back inside and closed me up.  The surgeon instructed me not to lift anything heavier than a phonebook for six weeks. After that I could  exercise as strenuously as I please. The problem is that I am nearing the six-week mark and the only thing that pleases me is taking it easy for a little while longer.

I’ve enjoyed having an excuse to do the light lifting around here. Besides, instead of stitches, my surgeon used glue to put me back together. Coming unglued is something that happens to me daily in Boy Town, but now that it might come with a visual, I use it to my advantage.  It’s been much easier to get the kids’ attention with disembowelment on the line – you just have to know how to tweak the drama.  A little grimace hear and there and one of the boys insists on carrying the laundry hamper downstairs. With a carefully placed hand over my midsection, I bend to pick up a wet towel from the bathroom floor and another of my brood rushes to hang it up for me.  Bracing against the kitchen counter with both hands,  I ask meekly if  they have finished their homework and I get a “Yes Ma’am.”  Life has been pretty sweet.

The problem is my midriff has relaxed quite a bit too – right over the top of my jeans.  I don’t know the extent of the damage in pounds, but  I’d say it’s easily a baker’s dozen. And then there’s the dust and dog hair issue – the devil’s in the details. While the males that surround me have been helpful and agreeable, they don’t give a whit about the flying filth and filaments. Not so for me – I wield sticky lint removers and vacuum attachments with the persistence and skill of the last Samurai.

Perhaps  I will  start slowly – in the face of a thousand dog hairs I could focus on one baseboard.  Maybe tomorrow I could tackle the smutchy ceiling fans, and the furry heating ducts. And once I’ve made the house fit for man (not beast) again I can summon the courage to get my expanding bod back to the gym.

But first, I really need to make some soup.