Taking the House by Storm

The trials and tribulations of the average gal trying to navigate through life, love and the pursuit of domestic bliss.

Saturday, May 26, 2007


Whenever someone asks me how I’m doing, how the baby’s room’s coming and how ready we are, I tell them how overwhelmed I am by the mess we have going, how unprepared we are and how out of control everything is. And almost 100% of the time, they’ll say, “You’re nesting!”


I always thought nesting meant cleaning out the clutter and getting ready for a new addition. That is not what is happening at our house, even with less than 4 weeks (!) to go until our bambino arrives. Provided this kid doesn’t take after the mailman and get here early.

But if they mean nesting in the sense that a bird will sometimes create a nest made out of any scrap of garbage it can find blowing around, then I can see the similarities.

There are piles of paper strewn all over the place. Yes, they are 99.9% mine. I realize I have a problem. I just can’t seem to throw it all blindly away. Something may need my attention, for goodness’ sake.

Our dining room is an offsite warehouse for Babies R Us right now. We can’t really do anything with all the great stuff everyone has so kindly given to us until the crib is put together. Rick couldn’t put it together because we were missing hardware. Hopefully, it will come together this weekend.

And he’s probably forgotten, but he also needs to put our rocker and ottoman together, too.

Even though my office has been officially cleared and can now accurately be called the nursery (!), as a result, our spare bedroom looks like someone stepped on a land mine.

I’ve spent much of this morning ironing clothes in there. I still have about 28 more things to press, but needed to take a water break and put my feet up for awhile. Since the heat has started to settle over Cincinnati, my ankles are swelling and I don’t much care for it.

Then, I feel like I need to clean up all the crap in our living room before Rick gets home from the airport in about an hour. It’s not like I haven’t been doing anything (writing thank you notes, laundry, cleaning up our dinner dishes from a few nights ago), but I always feel badly when he comes home to either the same or a bigger mess than what he left.

*sigh* Guess break’s over…


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