This weekend we (and since The Woman is 37 weeks pregnant, we really means I) had to get some painting done. That included:
- Priming and painting the kitchen ceiling
- Priming and painting the kitchen walls
- Priming and painting the nursery ceiling
- Priming the nursery walls
- Priming the new linen closet
- Pretending to prime and/or paint the kitchen trim
The Woman did, in fact, help out a lot. But she can’t be in the room when the primer is being used, and she can’t paint anything that’s lower than 3 feet or higher that 6 feet. Unfortunately our walls extend beyond both limits. The real shame is that she’s a better painter than I. But in the end it worked out – and for the first time in a while, I may actually be owed a tad more sympathy than she is. Holy crap does every square inch of my body ache.
To be fair, by now I’m already well on my way to recovery (until I paint the nursery walls tonight) while her feet are still ballooned to twice their usual size. And trust me, I’m smart enough not to try milking this for anything, anyway. Regardless, this was an incredibly rare weekend during which I was actually looking forward to returning to work on Monday in order to relax. Fool me once…