Anyone Know Step 16?

I became energized and enthusiastic a couple weeks ago, determined to cook some meals to freeze so that we will have actual food to fall back on after the baby comes and all the company leaves. Thus far I've covered the basics: BBQ, spaghetti, chili, chicken pot pie, and taco meat. Yesterday's endeavor? "Easy Enchilada Casserole". It has the word easy in the title, I've made it before...this should have been no problem.

Step One: Cook chicken and chop into pieces.

Step Two: Feet and ankles threatening to tingle and swell. Rest. Read a chapter of book. Pee.

Step Three: Saute onions, add tomatoes, black beans, corn, and seasoning. Simmer.

Step Four: Backache beginning on right side. Piglet doing Irish jig on left rib cage. Rest. Watch an episode of Laguna Beach. Lose 20-30 brain cells. Pee.

Step Five: Grate 3 cups of cheese. Berate self for buying only block cheese after learning of the evils of pre-grated cheese filled with preservatives and extra expense. Hate block cheese.

Step Six: Pee. Hang out in bathroom for a bit because it feels good to sit down and read Glamour. Reminisce upon what it was like to wear real clothes. Torture self by trying on jeans. Congratulate self on both thighs and backyard fitting into jeans. Avoid looking at front of said pants.

Step Seven: Layer bean mixture, chicken, cheese, and corn tortillas into baking dish. Voila! Meal accomplished at last.

Step Eight: Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place one pan in oven, set timer. Prepare other dish for deep freeze.

Step Nine: Crash on couch with full body pillow. Endulge in self-pity. Watch Men In Black and empathize with corpse whose body is taken over by alien.

Step Ten: Strange beeps emit from oven. Harsh crematorium-like smell renders the air foul. House could be burning down. Can't. Seem. To. Get. Off. Couch. Will check in two minutes. Hmmm. Fumes might be bad for baby. Investigate.

Step Eleven: Oven has somehow turned itself to Self-Clean mode with casserole trapped inside. Oven is attempting to cremate casserole at high temperatures and has locked door to keep me out. Oven is possessed. Frantically press all the buttons on the oven. Receive error message and watch eerie orange glow permeate from the oven.

Step Twelve: Flip breaker. Open all windows. Turn on all fans. Oven door still locked.

Step Thirteen: Inform husband we will be going to the burgerhouse for dinner. Attempt to eat kid's meal, find self stuffed after 4 bites. Curse alien inside self for lying on stomach. Alien kicks in glee after caffeine from Dr. Pepper reaches him. Pout and gaze longingly at fries.

Step Fourteen: Upon returning home, pretend oven and ashen casserole within oven do not exist. Go to bed with windows open and hope for the best with fumes. Sleep well.

Step Fifteen: Morning. Oven cool, but still stubbornly locked. Flip breaker to on position. Door opens. Remove charcoal casserole and attempt to chisel. Decide to soak instead. Will be all day job. Debate cooking again tonight.