New Year’s is always a weird time. Coming up fast after that post-Christmas blur, when no one knows what day it is, and you’re plowing through the leftovers in the fridge.
All the local gyms are screeching “NEW YEAR, NEW YOU!” Which is all well and good, but at the start of 2020 I *was* a gym bunny. The “new year, new me” promptly got pregnant and spend months in lockdown on the couch, feeling nauseated and migrainey and living on carrot sticks and grated cheese (and for a random week, Rashuns).
Don’t listen to gyms – if you want to join one then go for it, but don’t just do it in January because you feel like you have to. If you want to pay for a gym that you never visit, just transfer me $5 a week and you can use the weights and skipping rope in my garage. You can cancel anytime, promise.
Anyway, then 2021 began, and the “new year, new me” was a new mum in the midst of the 4th trimester, blearily stumbling through sleep deprivation, starting to get into a habit of long walks, but otherwise living in front of the air conditioning and rewatching The Office because if I fell asleep in the middle of an episode, I wouldn’t miss any vital plot points.
Now, 2022. New Year, new me? I think this year I’m going to work on getting the old me back, not a new me. Back into reading books, writing plays and blogs, visiting friends more (Covid-willing, of course!), getting fitter and stronger. Getting back into the classroom. Finding myself again, so I’m not just Leo’s mum, which is what I have been this year. I can be Leo’s mum while also being myself. And maybe I can even get some help for that ol’ ADHD.
I better fix my hair first, though. It’s been six months since I was last in a salon. Any Waikato recommendations?