This post was supposed to be about the child birth and newborn care classes we’ve been taking. But for some reason it refused to be written. Maybe my brain is still processing the information and hasn’t settled on a pleasant way to spit the experience back out yet. So you get a little more of a post about current events.
Recently, especially with unexpected snow days, I’ve been doing a lot more nesting. Now that we are closer to the birth and the baby shower is this weekend, there’s been a huge spike in gifts for the G man. My office threw a surprise shower for me earlier this week that resulted in at least a 50% increase in the number of outfits for the baby. Plus books and toys!
I don’t know if it’s the hormones or the sudden rise in beautiful, handmade baby blankets, but on Monday night I lost it and dragged every last piece of baby stuff out of the guest bedroom. Gibson’s boudoir currently consists of about 1/3 of my dance studio space. I’ve got a pile for things that need batteries. One for thrift store finds that need to be washed or wiped down. One for graciously donated hand-me-downs that need to be sorted by size.
The car seat is in pieces because I decided the cushion liner needed to be washed. This was way more of an experience than I expected it to be. I have a Spa Baby Upright Bathtub filled to the brim with bottles, nipples, flanges, tubing and membranes for a breast pump that all need to be washed. I’ve washed and matched dozens of pairs of baby socks.
Nesting is exhausting! I thoroughly believe that mother nature got this one wrong. The nesting instinct should kick in this forcefully in the second trimester. Back in the days when I could still dry my toes and had the energy to go up and down the stairs to the basement. If mother nature did this, then we gestating women could take the entire third trimester off to eat popcorn and sleep. Instead, I can’t sit for more than 20 minutes at a time without getting antsy about organizing the shelves so Gibson can’t reach the rubbing alcohol.
One thing that has surprised me about nesting is this: men do it too. I’m not sure if my hormones are affecting my husband or if it’s a natural part of becoming a father. Either way, my husband flipped out on Sunday and decided to repaint the bathroom.
Granted, there was some loose, flaking paint at the bottom of the doorway, but instead of brushing it off and painting over that one spot, my hubs decided to just paint it all. By himself. I did sort the toiletries and throw away out of date stuff. But the taping, scraping, painting, detailing, cleaning and such- he did that on his own. While I sat on the couch folding bibs.
At least now we know for sure that Gibson won’t be able to easily peel paint chips off the wall.
I posted the picture of plastic bins of baby clothes organized by size above on my Facebook page on Monday. The response was a mix. Some folks cheering us on for trying to be organized while others laughed at the foolish attempt of first time parents to control any aspect of the impending baby storm rolling our way.
There’s the famous pop culture saying, “Without a plan, there is no attack. With no attack, there is no victory.” I think the Man and I will be victorious. It’s just that we might have to reevaluate what victory means from time to time. Right now, victory means organizing onesies by size and carefully folding them into the storage containers. Or painting the bathroom blue. But after baby, it may mean something totally different to us. Like convincing the kid to use the toilet or going a full 24 hours without a crying jag (me, not baby.)
Right now, the plan is to set up the house as if baby were already occupying space outside of my body. That is our current, tiny victory. And to keep smiling. Because this part of our journey is really close to over. Then we start the next leg. Not a side quest, but the most adventurous campaign we’ve ever taken on. I sure hope we get multiple re-spawns and plenty of Phoenix Down.