I was at Superstore alone yesterday. Being at Superstore alone at 35 weeks pregnant is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I could stop long enough in the clothing section to try on a (surprisingly decent and attractive for both now and later) bathing suit and decide to buy it without the accompaniment of toddlersong. A curse because I am apparently indulging my nesting instinct and so had to stop in every isle that contained new sheets or towels, empty rubbermaid bins or wooden organizational tools for the closet and have the following conversation (hopefully internally but who can say – I was alone)
me: I want to put things away. Straighten. Organize. Get shelves. Get baskets for the shelves. Put things in the baskets. Look at all the baskets!
other me: What things do you have to put away?
me: baby things!
other me: those things are already sorted.
me: —-
other me: let’s go get cheese. you don’t need any baskets.
me: but they’re ON SALE
other me: you bought three baskets a few weeks ago. There’s nothing in them.
me: that’s because the baby isn’t born yet
other me: you’re going to keep the baby in a basket?
me: NO, but baby THINGS
Now that I read it over, it’s just like shopping with a toddler. Why did I bother to go alone?
I managed not to buy any baskets. But only because I don’t have the shelves yet. And I do have a place for the shelves. If I hadn’t spent so much time mooning over baskets yesterday I would have made to Ikea before the crushing throng of saturday shoppers and the shelves would be built TODAY because who knows, there could be a baby at any moment. (no, not really. But Saint Aardvark is threatening to chain a packed hospital bag to my ankle every time I leave this house [which will really improve my commute] so maybe he knows something I do not.)
I will add only that whoever decided I should be in this so-called nesting phase while the catt is shedding his winter coat is a particular bastard of the not-nice variety. Perhaps I will launder the catt and save myself a heap of vacuuming.
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Oooh. Nesting. Yes, I would keep that hospital bag close by.
I never noted when I was nesting. John would say; “Arwen, why are you 9 months pregnant standing on the counter washing the tops of the cupboards? I think you might be nesting.” And I would say, “What? Shut up. I’m listening for dirt. It’s not nesting, it’s WAR.”
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I remember scrubbing the oven at about 8 1/2 months pregnant and then … the braxton hicks came with a vengeance. Don’t over-nest! Yes, there is such a thing. I made it up. Remember, Riley came two weeks early, I think due to over-nesting … oh, and White Spot!
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I have never been a pregnant nesting woman, but I do have PMS-induced cleaning frenzies.
And the baskets! How I love them! Baskets are the greatest because you can put things in them! And then everything’s all snug and organized!
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Yes. Sheets! Towels! Bins! Baskets!
I too have been craving those in a weird way (plus curtains; gah). I suppose that IS nesting, eh? I’ve been warned that when I start scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush, that’s impending birth nesting. No urge to do that just yet, so I’m hoping baby stays put for a little while. Need to do more sheet/towel/basket nesting before baby!
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