Nesting

For the past two weeks I've been busily preparing my life and home for the arrival of our new little man.  Those preparations have included things any normal person would want to do before they have a newborn: shopping for all those little essentials I'll need on hand, laundering and organizing the baby clothes, deep cleaning the house and car, and checking off all those to-do's that I've been putting off, well, since we moved here.  When I explain this to people who ask what I'm up to, they  give me this knowing smile and say, "oh, you're just nesting."

Nesting? I didn't think so.  Nesting is for "crazy pregnant ladies" who sporadically start redecorating the nursery, entire house, buying all sorts of useless junk, etc.  The nesting comment irked me for some reason because I knew my activities have been completely rational, normal, and necessary.

But in the moment I found myself using a Q-tip to clean those hard-to-reach crevices of my washing machine it hit me that somewhere I had crossed over that line between normality and something else.  Let's just say I don't normally swab my laundry room with Q-tips, nor do I normally keep a book about cleaning by my bed to read once I am too tired to clean.  Yes folks, I nest.