There's a phenomenon in late pregnancy called 'nesting', wherein the mother prepares and fluffs her nest in preparation for the arrival of her little one. Often, this results in psychotic cleaning episodes where a 41-weeks-pregnant woman can be found on a ladder cleaning the upper corners of her bathroom with a toothbrush, or on her hands and knees at the back of a closet, insisting that every piece of dog hair and every single cobweb must be removed from the house before the baby arrives or else everything will be ruined.
I have heard of these psychotic episodes. I am looking forward to them. I enjoy anything that increases my productivity and results in a clean house, so I'm counting on this last-minute spurt of energy to get things done.
However, I didn't really expect that the nesting instinct would kick in as early as it has. I have a low-grade nesting reflex going on right now, wherein I feel like all of my time is being squished through a funnel, or a cone, ending in mid-August when the baby's due to pop. I have counted down my work days (I think I'm at 33 left) and I am acutely aware that I have only 10 weekends until my due date. TEN, people. That is not enough weekends.
It started with the dock. I feel such panic about getting this dock into the water that I lose sleep and right now I have heartburn (may have been the pastry I had for breakfast, but I'll blame the dock). I have planned and re-planned this dock so many times. I have made lists of equipment needed, lists of steps to take, lists of things to pack into the truck. I am over the edge with this dock – just ask dear hubby. Once it's in, I will feel great relief, not only because it'll be done but because finally I'll be able to achieve my vision of sitting in a lounge chair at the END of said dock, soaking up the rays, drinking a cold non-alcoholic beer (Beck's 0.0% - kind of crappy but still) and hopefully relaxing the panic and heartburn that I will inevitably feel when I realize that at that point, there will likely only be EIGHT weekends left. Argh.
Just now I caught myself making another list. This is one of my great skills – my superpower, if you will. I make a mean list and consider them to be something of a hobby. Lists are like my drug – I can't stop myself from making them, and they always make me feel better. This list had the bold title: THINGS TO GET RID OF AND HOW because I truly fear that the house is being sunk by junk, that we have no more room to maneuver, and everywhere I look there's something that I want gone from my sight. I find it incredibly overwhelming – I can't even think about it. I want to hire someone to come in and do a clean sweep jobbie on the place while I'm at work or something, or sitting in a comfy chair barking orders.
I happily completed this list, which I broke down into things that can be thrown out or recycled, things to be tossed during Household Hazardous Waste Day – about which I am disproportionately excited (June 18! Whee!) – things to be donated to the SallyAnn, things that can be placed at the end of the driveway with a 'free to a good home' sign, things to be moved to my brother-in-law's cottage and things to be burned. Next, I flipped over the page and started a new list: CLEAN AND SORT. This fascinating list includes such things as "sort sock drawer again", "hall closet", "iron everything", "cupboard under the phone" and "sort kitchen cupboards."
It was only once I'd completed this list that I realized: holy cow, I am nesting. This is crazy even for me, and I am pretty crazy at the best of times (every weekend starts with a list). I still have two months to go and already I'm hot to sort out my sock drawer – imagine what things will be like come mid-August? Crack out the toothbrushes and stock up on cleanser, because I am well on my way.
One thing's for sure; where I was on the fence about keeping my cleaning ladies (there have been issues, already, two cleanings in. I just think that anyone who cleans the house should scrub our one toilet and dust something, y'know? Not too much to ask), I now believe that I can just dump them. I am going to be productive enough over the next two months that their once-biweekly floor washing will be/has become redundant. I don't need to pay someone to do the stuff that I am likely to re-do at 11 p.m. on a Tuesday night anyway, and with summer's open doors and muddy paws, their effort really makes zero difference.
So, I may have to call in my troops (mom, hubby, misc. friends) to give me a hand at certain points. Someone will have to help me by A) entertaining my need to sort things out, and B) calming me when I get overwhelmed or irrational. Hubby may have to adopt an extra regular chore here and there, and help me pack stuff up and haul stuff to the curb when I need it to be gone. I have only 10 weeks left people! After that, I suspect I will be out of commission.
Which I find terrifying. Ten weeks! (pant pant pant)
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