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.
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.