Healing is such a miraculous thing. I've come to expect it of myself and take it for granted, but it really is amazing how we break so easily but don't stay broken.
I've spent a large amount of time in bed this week, reading and sleeping and letting my body do its whole healing thing. My constant headache is tapering off, it doesn't hurt to swallow or talk anymore (I had no idea that you could pull your throat muscles until now), and I can almost walk normally again. Like, as 'normally' as possible at this point. I've had a million people comment on my "pregnant waddle" and I haven't bothered to correct them on it. Limp/waddle, whatever. Sure.
Anyway. You've got to love progress. And it's happening just in time, because there are, what, eight days until Christmas? Family is starting to arrive in town, and I need those sore muscles to step up and shut up and be there so I can hug some nieces and nephews. (I have the most huggable nieces and nephews and most of them are quite unreachable, usually, on either end of this ridiculously big country. It'll be nice to have them all under one roof soon.)
We've already kind of kicked off the holidays with a big sugary bang. Two of Barclay's sisters, two nieces and my mum-in-law came over yesterday and we made chocolate bark of all kinds and I ate too much without really thinking about it at the time.
I feel it now. Christmas baking, you heartless fiend.
Oh well. Bodies heal. From head injuries and sugar comas.