Normally, I get indignant at the idea that being a staying at home mom is easier than working outside the home. It gets my hackles up when I hear fellow stay at homers deny themselves something because, "My husband works." Oy-vay. I want to tell them that it's likely their husband's boss doesn't tell them they accidentally crapped all over the floor and could they come clean it up now? Otherwise, they'll just smoosh it all over the walls, kay?
No, staying at home is work. Except for this week. This week I have fulfilled every imagined stay at home mom stereotype out there. I've laid on the couch and watched movies, abandoned all but the bare minimum of housework and have taken a nap every damn day. My dinners have come from bags I found in the frozen foods section. Preparation involves peeling back the corner of the plastic to vent.
I'm not sure what's come over me. I want to enjoy this lovely sloth, but a voice in the back of my head keeps yelling that if I keep indulging I'll NEVER EVER GET OFF THE COUCH AGAIN. Usually a visit to my nearby sister in law's house lights a fire under me. She's always on the move, making things happen and keeping busy. But I can't bring myself to stop by her house when there is perfectly good valentines chocolate at home to eat.
Everybody's healthy, I'm not depressed, bills are paid - ok well bills that report to the credit bureau are paid - and I don't feel like doing a damn thing. It's so very wrong. Hard working husband is about to walk in the door so I need to stop writing this so I can go bustle about and create the illusion that work has been done today. Then tomorrow I'll get back to normal. Or maybe the day after. Hell, let's just wait till Monday it's better to start with a fresh week.