This weekend was my baby shower and I am still floating on cloud 9. It was the sweetest and most perfect way to celebrate this baby boy whose due date is rapidly approaching. We ate […]
This weekend was my baby shower and I am still floating on cloud 9. It was the sweetest and most perfect way to celebrate this baby boy whose due date is rapidly approaching. We ate good food, laughed, played games, and I opened a lot of presents. We unloaded all of the gifts when we got home, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t immediately start organizing and showing everything off to my husband. This morning I realized I had to start the hard part: nesting. Nesting is a super real thing in pregnancy, in fact I have yet to meet a mama who didn’t experience it in some form or another.
Nesting is so sweet sounding, you imagine a mama bird carefully finding just the right bits and pieces to fill her nest for her sweet babies. It’s sort of like that for us human mamas too, except with a few dashes of stress and a sprinkle of anxiety. Then if you have a toddler and a tiny one-bedroom apartment, you can add about two extra cups of chaos. That’s exactly where I’m at right now. While I wait for my first load of tiny baby boy clothes to come out of the laundry I am racking my brain as to where exactly they are going to go and then where the second load will go. Not to mention finding a place for all of the other tiny, and not so tiny, baby things we ended up with.
All that I can think of is how I want every tiny detail to be perfect before he arrives. While I am sort of hoping he comes a little early (a girl can dream) I’m also wanting him to stay in long enough for me to get everything shipshape. Luckily one of my friends got me the best baby shower gift, a professional home cleaning before the baby. That means you won’t find this pregnant lady mopping floors and scrubbing toilets. I think that the gift of a clean home should be something that every expectant mama should receive. So, for now I’ll be organizing in between the Braxton hick’s contractions and hope that my husband doesn’t resent me for making him move furniture for the five hundredth time.