Things I want to have done before the baby gets here:
1. repaint crib and changing table
2. recover chair for nursery
3. repaint dining room table and chairs
4. repaint Boden’s old chest, distress it, and move to foyer
5. call electrician to put in a switch for garbage disposal
6. call plumber to install disposal
7. install different closet rod in Boden’s closet
8. switch closets from Boden’s old room to new room
9. move Grandma Eva’s highboy from Ashley’s garage to baby’s room paint it if I don’t like the color
10. hang up all presorted sized baby clothes in closet
11. change out all of the faucets in the house
12. clean everything four or five times
13. clean out fridge
14. reorganize bookcase and pack up old books that I have already read, but for some reason won’t get rid of because they are coveted like treasures.
15. Get septic tank pumped regardless of being full or not… just in case.
Ambitious for a woman who curses when she has to bend slightly to put on underwear. Really, this is just half the stuff that I want done and want it done now. There is no possible way for me to do half this crap by myself, because of me being extremely large and pregnant.
I did not nest in my previous pregnancy and I believe it was because I moved in my seventh month and did not know the sex of the baby. There is this motivation to do everything and clean until I drop to my knees and sob. It has happened several times in the past week. I just want everything done and done now and if it doesn’t happen I go ape shit.
I am so rattled with anxiety that I have asked my doctor to medicate me. I have become a beast. My husband, I’m pretty sure, is scared of me. He really tries to be kind to me and I have no idea where he is getting his patience… Oh wait it comes from a bottle of wine. Wine that I cannot drink. He has resorted to sleeping in another room and frankly I do not blame him. The other night he tried to turn on a small fan in order to create white noise. It immediately made my blood boil, because we have not had white noise in a year and why should I have to hear and see this ugly little fan in my bedroom collecting dust. No, I do not want THAT in here and we HAVE a ceiling fan. He dismissed himself after trying to sleep next to me who constantly flopping all over the bed attempting to find a comfortable position that would also allow me to breathe. I can’t imagine why he would not be able to fall asleep.
My best friend said it best when she half heartedly told my mother, “punching her in the face wouldn’t hurt that baby none.” Yes, half heartedly she meant it and I laughed, because it is funny. What isn’t funny is not being able to control the hormones that make me beastly. God save all of you who may endure my wrath and I am sorry I cannot control myself better.
Only 9 more weeks.