Nesting IS a Hormone


I used to think that “nesting” was a myth. I was so sadly mistaken. I cried today for an hour and a half. This mean, tiny voice in my head had nothing but nasty things to say because I am eight months pregnant this week and the only thing that is “prepared” is his dresser that contains more clothes than I ever imagined anyone could own, plus a box sitting on top of it with yet more clothes.

I was smart though. I remembered what we were taught this week in my Communications class, shut that negative voice up and tell yourself you have exceeded your capacity for negativity for the day. So that’s exactly what I did. I went into the office, rearranged the desk and filing cabinet (Side note: I did NOT lift anything, I shuffled, scooted, and shoved). I then proceeded to shuffle, scoot, and shove the love seat that is in my bedroom to the office. That is until I got it to my bedroom door.


I considered taking out the window, then I realized I would need to lift it, move it around the entire house and somehow lift it through another window. Not ideal. Maybe if I wasn’t as far as I am I would have considered this option further. Instead the couch and I had an hour long, tear-filled fight. Just as I was about to take my bedroom door off its hinges my dad walks through the door. He’s on the phone, with a coworker, I’m guessing. He stops in his tracks and in midsentence of what sounds like a very important conversation, “What the hell are you doing?”

In the end he convinced me to wait another couple of weeks before I continue my nesting, letting out a huge sigh of relief when I reluctantly agree. Then he does something that did not once cross my mind throughout this whole ordeal. He got out the tape measure…even if we moved it today and started putting the crib together, the damn couch wouldn’t fit where I intended to place it. Now I sit in a chair beside the couch, too pissed off at the couch itself it actually sit on it.


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