I Could Have Had A Baby By Now

This is a little late but the title still applies.

It's been nine months since I fell.  Nine months.  In some ways, it seems like it's been a minute and in others, I'm incredulous that this wildly boring adventure isn't over yet.

I've finished physical therapy now.  My therapist summed it up as "I think we're just torturing you now and while I enjoy that, it's time to stop."  Now you understand why I liked her so much.

I don't have a limp because I Pay Attention.  Kevin says that my walk has changed, especially when I'm tired or sore.  Then he calls me an old woman.  So caring and gentle, this husband of mine.

I am still in sneakers mostly.  I've banished a few pairs of socks.  I don't go into PTSD tremors when I see track pants anymore.  So, progress.

I still can't jog or run, not that was in the realm of possibility before but the mere thought of it makes me cringe and want to sit down.

I am told not to worry about much of anything until at least the first year anniversary and even six months after that so: October.  (I nearly wrote "2013" because I'm still in 2012 because I'm still living it because I missed most of it)
(Also: I decided not to change the grammar nightmare of that sentence because it pleased me in its absurdity.)

I am still not working full time and I've gotten over that.  It's gonna be what it's gonna be and worrying about it is not going to change it.

So that's what is happening here.  What is happening where you are?