I Don't Nest

So the "nesting instinct" is this supposed universal response to clean and prepare everything for the arrival of your unborn child. It's supposed to get more intense as the birth draws nearer.

Yeah, I get lazier as the birth draws nearer. I just sit here and think about how extremely difficult it would be to get up right now. To even lean forward. You're lucky I'm not on the couch with my feet on the coffee table. That is my preferred position for the 9th month and it was when I was pregnant with Olivia, too. Ok, so now that I take the time to look back (thank goodness for Blogger), I see that I did go a bit crazy with the laundry aspect of preparing for baby. But that's it. and since most of it has been used already and therefore is already washed, and the few boy clothes we have gotten have already been washed... there's nothing else to do but sit here and blog about how I don't nest.

Actually, though, besides the lack of nesting, I experience an additional decrease in the desire to do things I've normally been doing for months now. For example: it is my responsibility to clean up the dinner dishes. Josh cleans the spaghetti off of the floor, cabinets, high chair, and tray; and then I clean up the dishes. Well, I put away the leftovers... aaaaand sat down at the computer with the chair as reclined as it can get while still allowing me to reach the keyboard.

And cleaning the bathroom every week? It's every other week now. Even if we have company coming over. I'll take a square of toilet paper and get all the dust and towel-lint off the back of the toilet and the corners of the tub and call it a day. Of course, I was chastised by Josh when he caught me standing on the side of the tub cleaning the tiles one Saturday and was told to let him do that from now on (that was going to be a post in and of itself called "How to Get Your Husband to Clean the Bathroom for You" and was going to include the following steps: 1) Get pregnant, 2) Wait 9 months 3) Let him catch you standing in precarious positions on slippery surfaces with the dizzying smell of Lysol drifting out of the toilet bowl).

Okay, well... now that you know the truth about the ninth month, or mine anyway, I'm going to hoist myself up to take care of the dishes because even though the intrinsic reward of satisfaction in a job well done doesn't motivate me enough, the extrinsic punishment of all the bugs that will gather does.