Nesting Instinct Not Found Here
There are picture books scattered across my living room floor, left over from my daughter’s read-a-thon this morning. There is a basket of clean clothes on the love seat, asking to be folded, and receiving the silent treatment from me. The dishwasher's “clean” light is on, as it has been for the last two days.
Yet, here I am, lounging in my chair, barely able to keep my eyes open. No one would believe I was 37 weeks pregnant with my son, based on my actions, and the look of my house. “Where is the frantic cleaning?” they would wonder. “Where is the woman bent over at the waist, diligently scrubbing her baseboards in anticipation of a newborn capable of critiquing her housekeeping skills?”
Well, she’s definitely not at this address.
That’s not to say my house is a pigsty—there aren’t dishes in the sink, and the floors have been recently swept and mopped (no thanks to me—love you, hubby!). But, that crazed “nesting” instinct I am supposed to be overtaken by is nowhere to be seen.
Sure, the basics are done—he has a crib ready, there are diapers stacked on the changing table, and his car seat is ready to be installed by the front door. However, I can’t seem to muster up the energy to make sure every inch of the house is absolutely spotless—the way I did for my oldest.
Wait, my oldest? Oh, maybe that’s the issue! My daughter—my tiny, 2-year-old ball of endless energy. If she’s not dancing around the house on her toes, she is bounding down the hall or chasing the dog in circles. Honestly, there’s rarely a moment she’s not moving, which, as it turns out, means that I am always moving, something I did not experience while I was pregnant with her. No, I took more of a sloth approach with my first pregnancy. I got a lot done, but it was mostly done in slow motion.
But slow motion is not a speed that is compatible with toddlers, so by the time she is down for her daily nap, I collapse, exhausted, unable to do anything but use the skip button on my DVR to bypass the commercials in the Dr. Phil episode I’m watching. It feels so nice to sit still. Nesting? Nope, not happening. Not unless it can be done from this exact spot on my chair.
Baby Jackson will have to accept he was born into a laid-back household, one that prioritizes playtime and personal sanity over washing the walls. (People really do that?!)
Time to stand up, nap time is over … hurry along, bedtime.