I thought the whole idea of nesting during pregnancy is that it takes place during the last few weeks? Apparently that is not the case with me. Ever since this second trimester started and gave me back my energy, I have had some house-related project every single weekend. It’s borderline-manic. Dave seems sort of confused by my behavior; I just tell him that it’s helping my brain relax, and he leaves me alone with it.
So even though I’m sure y’all are probably sick of hearing about it, here’s the list, so Dave will have sufficient evidence against me when it comes time for my commitment hearing.
This weekend, I:
* Cleared enough space in the garage that there is now more than enough room for all of the doors and baseboards that are being delivered later this week.
* Washed and folded four loads of laundry. Dave’s sock drawer is now so full that it won’t close all the way.
* Cleaned our bedroom, and in the process, found Dave’s glasses that he thought he had lost weeks ago. Go me. And go Dave, who no longer has to wear his big nerdy glasses from high school that make him look like Harry Potter.
* Cleaned my office. (Except for the litter box in there, because that task is on Dave’s to-do list while I’m in this delicate condition.)
* Started to clean out the baby’s room, which is weird to say because until now it’s just been a guest bedroom, or a junk room. (Mostly a junk room.) That’s going to take a while to finish up, and will require some help from Dave, because there are a few heavy items in there (i.e., boxes of books) that I am not going to attempt to carry downstairs by myself.
Oh, and at some point on Saturday, I went to retrieve our garbage can from the end of the driveway (garbage pick-up is on Fridays), and I noticed it was still full. The hell? A couple of our neighbors happened to be driving by, and they stopped and told me that the waste management guys are on strike. Lovely. Don’t our garbage guys know that I have big important cleaning projects to do? Stupid jerks.
This weekend I also started watching a few of the baby shows on Discovery Health. I know that’s generally not a good idea – I’ve read stories of pregnant women weeping over the preemie babies as their husbands physically wrenched the remotes out of their puffy little pregnant hands. But honestly? Those shows don’t really scare me that much. At least, not in a “oh dear god, what if this baby is born at 24 weeks and almost dies and has to spend the first few months of its life in the NICU?” sort of way.
However, it does make me start thinking about the pregnancy timeline a bit more. And it occurred to me that by Christmas, I’ll be 35 weeks pregnant, and if the baby is born then, it’d most likely be healthy and ready to come home after a very short hospital stay. So that makes me feel a bit “holy sh*t, we have to get our entire house baby-ready within the next 3 months!!”
I don’t know what it is about that February 2nd due date – somehow it seems a lot farther away in the future when you think of it as being “next year.” Next year? Heck, it’s not even really fall yet! We have all the time in the world to prepare!
But if I think that it could happen toward the end of this year? I wig out.
And then I read the crib reviews in my Baby Bargains book (which is seriously the greatest book ever, and I’m going to owe my cousin’s wife a thank you note for recommending it), and I see that sometimes nursery furniture has to be ordered a few months in advance, and I wig out some more.
Logically, of course, I know that newborns don’t really require that much. All I really need is a car seat, and maybe a Pack N’ Play that I can use as a bassinet for the first few weeks. And it’s not like newborn babies can crawl, so I don’t have to worry about the fact that one of the cats got upset about my cleaning a room and decided to go poop in the corner. None of that stuff really matters.
It’s just this idea in my head of not being prepared for the baby by the time he/she arrives. It feels like that nightmare where you’re in school taking an exam that you haven’t studied for. It’s a horrible, anxiety-ridden feeling.
So, in the meantime, everyone will just have to excuse me while I’m using the DustBuster to clean all of the windowsills in the house. Because this is just how I cope.