So, I am currently recovering from having a seven pound human being removed from my loins. Said human being is eyeballing me from her Boppy pillow perch as I type; she monitors my every move, making sure her milk machine does not go too far. She is running the show now, which is just fine as this recovery business has really affected my ability to be bossy. I am not allowed to do a lot of stuff so I have become reliant on my husband and older boy children to pick up the slack for me. Having a household of males taking on my everyday tasks is daunting and I live in fear of what I will discover in the weeks to come.

I am a little afraid for the laundry, quite frankly. There are linens mixed with work jeans and thrown into the washing machine with abandon; the poor dryer is an overloaded mess with its contents tangled and damp. Males, as a general rule, do not follow the laundry laws of separation. My poor vacuum cleaner, that I so enjoy, is taking a visible and audible beating. I can hear its agony from afar but am powerless to help it as it is forced to consume Nerf darts and bb gun pellets and anything that hasn’t been picked up off of the floor ... which translates into any and everything. Its filter is clogged, its canister full, and its beater bar is a tangled and slow moving mess. The dishwasher is screaming out for help as is the poor, abused refrigerator; they have never been subjected to the likes of these males. They do not rinse dishes and then load them upside down and sideways, leaving no hope of the jets ever reaching the soiled surfaces. They are of the school that they can fit every single piece of silverware and flatware into the poor machine at one time. No amount of detergent or rinse agent can stand up to this. And the fridge has things unwrapped and rolling around on every single shelf. It should have a sign on the front warning that opening could result in the contents landing on the floor. The dogs are onto this and lay in wait; they know there’s treasure to be had in the form of loose food.

Speaking of the dogs, they and the cats are onto the fact that they can fool the males into feeding them repeatedly throughout the day. They play the, “poor starving me,” card constantly, the dogs carrying empty bowls and looking forlorn while the cats meow pathetically. I’m afraid the animals will need canine and feline Weight Watchers before I’m back to my post as kibble Gestapo.

The diet of the men of the house has suffered since my last couple weeks of pregnancy. They revert to what I call freezer crap on a regular basis and I think the lettuce and tomato on sandwiches was their only produce intake for a while. Thank goodness my mother has shown up with fresh fruit and vegetables. She has also reintroduced them to the dining table; it had been used as a catch all and cat lounge for a few weeks. We have even eaten meals as a family and off of real, honest to goodness plates a few times this week. There has been a protein, a starch and a vegetable present as well as a setting for each person with varied utensils and napkins. I think I’ll be able to pick out what the children have been wearing for the last month by the stains left on their shirts from lack of napkins and paper towels.

All in all, they have taken good care of me and the baby, the animals, and the house and I salute them. I believe, however, that the whole lot of them is ready to have the boss back in her office, and he boss is quite ready to hang her shingle back up.