Shawn The Martyr

So it turns out the biggest obstacle we have to hurdle with this broken foot business is Shawn's contribution to housework. Who knew there was someone who hated cleaning more than me?

Tough titties, 'cause Amy can't vacuum, and the floors gotta get clean. As bad as I feel about having to give up some of my independence, this part might be a little fun.

Speaking of fun, did anyone catch the workout I got last night? No? Well, damn, pull up a chair and let me tell ya all about it:

It only took me 20 minutes to get Jax into the Baby Bjorn, and a mere 10 more to scoot up the stairs backwards on my butt with him strapped to my chest. Those of you who knew me pre-breast reduction know that I can haul a good 20-30 pounds up there, so we're set. Let me just say I'm not quite as worried about missing my workouts while I'm injured -- I'm pretty confident I'll be able to make it up just by lugging Jaxson around. The crawling on my knees with him to his bedroom is my favorite part, though. Especially when Ry assumes I'm giving piggy-back rides and tries to hop on.

Shawn is no longer cursing my klutziness as much as he was a couple of days ago; he's now using it as an excuse NOT to go through with the vasectomy this weekend. Lemonade from lemons, people. We're a glass-half-full kind of family here.

I don't care what he does or doesn't get done, I'm just not going back on birth control. 6 years is enough for me, thanks. So whether or not he reschedules is pretty much dependent on whether or not he cares if we receive another surprise down the road. After this week, I'm pretty sure he'll be making another appointment.