I have heard, that in the final months of pregnancy, an expectant mother begins "nesting". In my mind a pleasantly plump little preggo waddles around the house fluffing pillows and blissfully choosing a cheery yellow paint color for her offspring's nursery walls. This image, like most myths about pregnancy, is entirely false. Though the term "nesting" seems to imply a dainty little birdy lining her nest with feathers and love, or, you know, even a creepy stork doing similar work, I have discovered it to be just another of those sneaky little code names meant to disguise the dangerous animal behavior pregnant women engage in. Like all the other lies ("pregnancy lasts 9 months", "you may experience mild discomfort", "I loved being pregnant" and the "surgeon general's warning"), the nesting concept is used to trick women into thinking that something cute is about to happen. Well, the fact is, pregnancy seems to be more on the order of 10 f-ing months and "nesting" appears out of nowhere, hits you like a 100 degree fever and the only bird I can imagine right now is a disgusting vulture or a pterodactyl.
You know that "either someone cleans this house right now or we are just going to have to move" feeling? It's like that. But you're really hot. Because, as I mentioned, stupid crazy shit happens to you when you get knocked up and being incredibly hot even when it is 35 degrees outside is one of those things. So, naturally, I flew into a rage. "The carpet is muddy, of course, because it is still snowing even though it is now SPRING, and the little area rug I put down to trap that mud as we enter the house gets caught under the door so what's the point anyway?I guess I'll just have to shampoo the god damned carpets AGAIN, but why bother if it is not going to stop snowing ever and the dog is going to poop in the house when he knows I'm at whit's end? What am I going to do when the baby starts crawling? Let him live like this?! With a dirty carpet?! I'll have to clean every day! I'll have to quit my job! And the kitchen! Don't even get me started on the kitchen." I am obsessed with finding the perfect mop. I don't really see the point in half- cleaning anything, and mops don't work. There are about 4 abandoned mops in the closet because none of them were good enough. Now I want a steam mop and have determined this to be the solution to all my problems. "And I have to vacuum and sweep before I mop and I can't bend over to pick up the dust pan because the baby's in my way and why am I letting all this bother me anyway? The house was just as dirty yesterday as it is right now and if anyone ever bothered to do a dish in this stupid house..." You get the picture. Blind Rage. Over cleaning. Ask anyone who knows me, blind rages over many, many trivial things, yes. Blind rages over cleaning my house? Never.
The way I see it I have two options. Well, 3. I can clean, move, or set the house on fire. Cleaning seemed like the rational decision, plus I'm too lazy to pack and not nearly drunk enough to burn the house down. I got the kitchen half way mopped and decided that my energy was much better spent writing about my hissy fit than actually fixing the cause. So the place is still as messy as a frat house run by an aging German Shepherd, but I have decided, like so many other activities that are no longer worth my time, cleaning the house is going to be filed under "Someone Else's Problem" for the time-being. Sorry Matt.
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