"A robin feathering her nest
Has very little time to rest
While gathering her bits of twine and twig.
Though quite intent in her pursuit
She has a merry tune to toot
She knows a song will move the job along..."
I'll be honest with you, one of my favorite parts about the end of pregnancy (aside from the fact that the baby is supposed to be arriving soon, of course) has to do with the nesting stage. You know, that fluke of a time when you have an inexplicable increase in energy and start getting lots of random things around the house done in preparation for the new baby? In pregnancies past, it has inevitably been my most productive time--not that I've necessarily cleaned particularly well during this time, but I sure have organized the heck out of some closets. (Just ask Alexa--she was quite impressed when we brought her home from the hospital.)
Well, friends, unless this magical ability to clean and organize beyond my current capabilities surfaces soon, (the chances of which are virtually nil) I'm pretty sure the nesting boat has set sail and left me panting inexplicably at the dock. It has me feeling a little sad. And, did I mention, out of breath? (Okay, I was already out of breath anyway.) Instead of actually doing anything extra, all of my physical powers (the likes of which are also virtually nil) are all going towards the basics: getting kids up and off to school, packing lunches, washing and folding laundry, grocery shopping, sweeping, vacuuming, meal preparing, and scrubbing the occasional toilet. That's it. Any nesting I'd like to do takes place only in my head, not unlike the way that, as a kid, I used to imagine cleaning my room on a Saturday morning from the comfort of my own bed. I literally sit and look around and pine about all the great things I'd like to get done, and have no energy whatsoever with which to do them.
The fact that, this pregnancy, I am older, have more kids, (two of whom are in school), and I am getting a lot less sleep, all serve to explain my inability to nest like a proper pregnant lady, but knowing those things just really fails to make me feel any better. All I want to do is randomly organize the heck out of something, and yet I fear passing out midway through. And, in my heart of hearts, though I (very much) long to not be pregnant anymore, I know that I am months and months away from my energy levels returning to any semblance of normalcy. Maybe my nesting days are just gone for good.
But alas, life goes on and I will just have to comfort myself with the fact that I'll have plenty of crap to organize at a later time in my life.
In the meantime, this picture should give you an idea of why I can't move a laundry basket across the room without Craig assuming (from the other room) that I am on the exercise bike...
