I think the nesting thing has started. I’m not sure. I mean, it’s not like morning sickness where at 10:10 on Monday. November 12 it was all, BAM WELCOME TO HELL HERE HAVE A BUCKET YOU WON’T ACTUALLY BE ABLE TO THROW UP IN FOR A FEW WEEKS BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW SOME REASON.
And I certainly haven’t begun to do anything in his room yet. There’s a crib leaning up against the wall that has yet to be assembled. I think that should happen sometime next week. And I’m still throwing shower gifts and stuff in a box and not actually washing stuff yet. The shower is in about a week, and either we will be getting furniture to put all of his adorable things on or I will be ordering it (prime shipping) that night. So either way, it’s kind of silly to waste a whole lot of time in there until after that because it’s kind of…empty. And God willing we’ll have several weeks to get that straightened out after the shower.
(Although I did think he was coming on Tuesday night. Which was unpleasant. But actually ended up being less labor and more not eating and stress because the sink backed up [of course] and my husband is many things but happy and complacent upon not being able to immediately conquer any and all home emergencies despite not owning the correct tools to do so is not one of them.)
But it’s gotten to a point where I WANT to do those things. I want to set stuff up and get frustrated when I can’t. Because it’s another cruel twist of irony that God makes pregnant women a.) need everything absolutely perfect and fixed RIGHT NOW and b.) unable to lift more than 10 lbs frequently.
And I’ve made Buzz start cleaning out the kitchen cabinets. Because there’s a baby coming! And he’ll need places for bottles! And formula! And binkies! And then he’ll get solid foods and God knows Squeaks won’t want to share her dishes so we’ll need to double them and oh good Lord, we need to move.
(Another thing in the back of my head I’m refusing to deal with.)
The kitchen was never really organized after I moved in. I moved all my stuff in before the wedding because I figured the last thing we needed was to spend the first two weeks of our marriage fighting over where my stuff would go and what that meant for our relationship and past relationships and the world as a whole, I don’t know, it was stressful. And we had those fights, just before the wedding. So we came home happy and at peace with each other and got to enjoy the brief weeks before the puking started.
Except in the kitchen. Because while I was crazy and irrational, I wasn’t crazy and irrational and mean and making Buzz eat off of paper plates until we unpacked the wedding china seemed rude. So I kind of piled all our stuff in the cabinets when we got back and didn’t really arrange any of it with any thought as to how to easily retrieve it. Which is why in order to use a mixing bowl you have to extract the salad spinner and any time I use a 9×13 pan I have to slam the door shut with my foot SUPER FAST before the rest of the bakeware falls out.
But no more! Because we have been going through the kitchen a cabinet a night. And let me just say? I didn’t think we were hoarders? At least until I actually looked at how we keep all our stuff.
Like our snack cabinet. That contained two bags of expired goldfish, three bottles of B6 that I purchased while out and nauseated, and a handful of Father’s Day cards that never got given away. (Be surprised this year, gentlemen.) And eight tons of other crap that I don’t even know but once it was gone I have a place to put my generic oreos.
We also did the broom closet, which held one broom and EIGHT MILLION plastic bags. Because, I don’t know, we were going to use them? If we decided to move using only plastic bags? And also, holy cow do we spend too much time and/or money at Target.
So this morning I got to drag LITERALLY a cart full of plastic bags into Target to recycle. Like a crazy person. A crazy pregnant bag lady.
Tonight is Eva’s cabinet. I’m not sure if there’s anything in there that needs to be disposed of, but if it does, I’ve decided that’s Buzz’s job. I’ve had enough of being stared at.