My wrists are feeling better. Thank goodness.
It never ceases to amaze me how much of my daily life is affected when something is wrong with my hands. Even a hangnail can make daily tasks, if not miserable, at least challenging. So late Thursday night, as I hauled, er, gently lifted, Baby E from her co-sleeper into bed with me to nurse, bending my wrists all cattywampus while doing so, I had this uncommonly clear thought for the middle of the night: Your hands and wrists are a delicate machine. Take care of them.
So I did. No knitting, little typing, mouse with the left, no cutting with knives, no extra pressure. I even had M open my ibuprofen bottle for me.
What's worse is that I just itched to knit on Friday and Saturday, forced myself to forgo the needles until Sunday afternoon, and then I limited myself to an hour. I want to be one of those little old ladies still churning out the stuff when I'm 90, not wailing in my hospital bed about my carpal tunnel.
That said, the final orange toe is taunting me from its hiding place under the dresser...Must Finish. Must Move On! But no more 6-hour marathon sessions.