I’ve been quite stressed about the prospect of the Christmas break.
Work has been flat out busy for a few weeks now, and I hadn’t realised
just how tired I was until I’d had a “firm” conversation from (not
with) my boss. I paused, and realised that, apart from two weeks’
paternity leave in August, I have only had two days off work since I
started the new job in April. In short: I’m shattered.

The bike has been missing in a big way, what with weekends used up
with family stuiff, and the recent snowfall cutting short my commutes
to the end of the year. Weight has been piling on as I continue to eat
for its own sake (and the endorphin hit), and so the idea of spending
my first week oiff for months anywhere but home didn’t fill me with
seasonal joy.

However, two days spent at the inlaws have, in spite of the stress of
overloading our car with kit for the baby, been quite restful.
Allowance has been made, and I have barely lifted a fat finger. Sure,
way too much food has passed my lips on a near endless basis, but the
opportunity to spent maximum family time without external stresses has
been great.

I love my inlaws – they’re the kindest people.