"I'll make the most of it, I'm an extraordinary machine."

Married life.
It's been under a week, and... uh... well, it feels no different, except now, every few hours, Chris and I look at each other, giggle, and say, "We're married!"

Our honeymoon consisted of one whole entire day off together- well, technically half a day, because we had to pick Maddy up later that afternoon. We went and watched Shrek the Third, and as I sat sandwiched between the two of them, I found it hard to stay focused on the movie because I kept staring at the person to my right or left, feeling overwhelmingly blessed.

By the next morning, the "overwhelmingly blessed" turned into "overwhelmingly overwhelmed," as I looked around the house and made a mental list of all the chores that had to be done. I still had a few days off from work, but Chris was leaving to rejoin the workforce at 7:30am on Tuesday. I took a break from packing Maddy's lunch to walk my husband (I can't even type that without a giggle) to the door that morning, something that made me feel very June Cleaver. The only problem was that about ten steps from the front door, the realization hit me that This house isn't going to clean itself... and I'm the one with the day off today... oh eff me. I've got to do it? As I said goodbye to Chris, I couldn't stop the tears from falling, the big fat wet hot tears sprung from the hormonal well of pregnancy. I was already lonely before his car was shifted into Drive.

I spent most of Tuesday cleverly avoiding doing most of the housework. I even went into my work to see if I could pick up a shift! I ended up spending the afternoon shopping for new carpet with my grandma, with enough time to accomplish a few of the least deplorable tasks on my housework to-do list.

Wednesday, it was unavoidable. I had to clean my closet. Really, I had to, because people were coming out in the afternoon to measure my bedrooms for new carpet. I really wanted to avoid having someone opening my closet doors to measure the square footage and losing their life, suffocated under an avalanche of mismatched Vans and clothes I haven't been able to wear in 6 months. There is no motivator for housework greater than the chance a perfect stranger might die upon entering your home! And, let's be honest, I can't afford BOTH the new carper AND a lawsuit. Let's be honest, I can't even really afford the carpet.

Ever since Tuesday morning, I've been arm-wrestling with my hormones and have consistently lost. Ever the glutton for punishment, I declare "TWO OUTTA THREE!" and lose again. "BEST OF FIVE!!!" Then, my Self-Esteem decides it can't handle watching the slaughter from the sidelines, so they pipe up, "I play winner!" My hormones then proceed to mop the floor with my Self-Esteem. I've gone through the last few days unwittingly doing an Eeyore impression as my punishment.

I worked a little the last two days, which really didn't serve any purpose other than annoying me. (I gave the play-by-play over at zee other blog, the one where I just complain a lot, you know, that one?) Now I'm self-medicating with Fiona Apple (Extraordinary Machine on repeat!) and trying to distract myself from the daydreams I'm having about French Fries wearing ketchup shoes and can-can dancing from the plate to my mouth. Yup, daydreaming about junk food, despite the fact that I can actually feel my toes swelling as I sit here.

I'm off to go elevate my lower extremities before I have two pillow feet and ten Vienna Sausage toes.

Mmmmm.... sausage...