I've decided I don't like the word "nesting".  When I think of the word "nesting" I think of a happy little bird getting her nest ready for her eggs to hatch. I think of happy, non stressed little mommies dusting the crib with a feather duster while humming lullabies.

But my experience of nesting is not like that at all. Sure there are the happy moments of decorating a nursery. That's fun and for me, not stressful. Especially this time 10 weeks ago. But in my experience real nesting is maddening and frustrating. It is a panic that sets in about 4-6 weeks before I deliver. The wheels in my brain start spinning furiously with things that need to be done before the baby comes. The majority of these things have nothing to do with the baby and are not fun and to anyone else may seem utterly ridiculous. Like cleaning out the freezer, buying a new toilet seat, and cleaning out a craft closet. All of which have been happily lived with for the past 6 months in the current state they are in. But to me, the thought of them not getting done sends me into an emotional and mental panic until they are accomplished.

The problem comes when the things that need to be done are not accompanied by the ability or energy to complete them. Sorting laundry takes my breath away, cleaning the shower makes my back ache, and cooking meals makes me sweat like I just took a shower. Much less, cleaning out large appliances and reorganizing closets.

The other problem, the bigger problem is that I don't always think things through before I try to tackle them. Today, I almost hurt myself (and Fischer), broke his changing table and really scared Kyle, all because I was trying to get something from the top of his closet. I know now that it was a really dumb idea. I am really upset with myself for even trying it. And after talking with Kyle I have promised him to not do anything remotely like that again without thinking through and discussing it with him first. (Seriously mom, I know.) Especially when he is so wonderful and willing to do anything I need done.

It is just infuriating to me to not be able to do things that I am used to being able to do. Because I weigh a million pounds. Because my balance is off (ok, when is it ever on?), because I don't want to have to wait on anyone else's time table to get it done and I don't want to have to explain to anyone why the dirt on the top of the blinds on the top of window needs to be cleaned off right now or I won't be able to sleep tonight.  


Anyway, I really have agreed to not do anything else stupid that is within my power to rationally think through and discuss first. I really am upset with myself for even trying. And I'm even more ready for this baby to be here now.


Nesting.

Ugh.