Awhile back, I warned you that the over-riding theme of this blog would be about nesting for the foreseeable weeks and months. And, like it or not, I think I’ve kept to my word about that. Then, over the last several days — looking around this house, at my lists, at the photos compiling in my camera, I decided the concept of nesting deserved a post all it’s own. What a strange but powerful instinct it is.
Over the past weekend, we did the dirty work of emptying out every single one of our kitchen cabinets, cleaning them and their contents, and then putting everything back in. Orlis had a great time playing with some strange items unearthed in the mess, and I felt that delicious sensation of having spring cleaned (spring weather or not…). I had a laugh with a pregnant client of mine who had the very same chore on her to-do list in the coming months as we got to talking about this wild nesting urge and how intense (and sometimes unreasonable) it can be. I shared that this time around, I’m doing my best to keep things prioritized as they really should be — the gathering and organizing of birth supplies to come before certain sewing and painting projects. (And as I was doing such “gathering” in the way of some bottles of pink Prosecco yesterday at the grocery store to have chilled on hand for the birth team for those moments after birth — the clerk working asked me if I was having a party. ”No,” I said, “I’m having a baby.”)
Though my understanding is nearly every species, while pregnant, does some version of this, what occurs to me is how arbitrary, in some ways, these nesting projects can seem, particularly with such a strong deadline, and especially since the baby won’t notice one single ounce of my efforts. He/she won’t see that we’ve endured painful, dusty basement cleanups and certainly won’t notice that my spices are now alphabetized. In fact, it’s not likely that any of it will make a bit of difference when it comes down to how I know we’ll be spending our days for those tender, early weeks and months after the baby is born — nursing, sleeping, foraging for food, getting to know one another. But, somehow, a large jar of homemade chicken noodle soup in my freezer, some freshly sewn pillows tossed around, and a toddler who now knows how to fold diapers puts my mind at ease like nothing else could at this moment. So many projects, so little time. And the good news is, if it doesn’t get done, it really is okay – we’ve got each other, quilts of all sizes, and enough Gatorade, popcorn, and pink Prosecco to get us through.