I knew it would. I’m type A. So I assumed (like last time), it would be monumental. I’ve began nesting.
My nesting mode is more like this.
When I would love for it to be more like this.
I don’t think it’s me as much as the whole time component that makes me squeamishly-impatient. I have three months. Yeah, it’s definitely that thought. 3 teeny, tiny months. (Just yesterday was three months ago for crying out loud.)
Our bathroom remodel is taking much longer than anticipated, and has confirmed that never again will I ask for family help. I will gladly empty out my savings for any other projects. Gladly. I wanted to wait to begin on the nursery until after the bathroom remodel. It’s very close to being complete. We’re down to tiling. We have a half-way tiled floor and all the walls are bare, but fixtures, paint and new window are in place.
Now, I’ve made the executive decision to move forward with other projects. The baby’s room consists of a 42inch plasma, 24 inch Mac desktop, my great-grandfather’s black trunk, his suitcase he used when leaving Italy, and a few IKEA pieces. These things must find new homes. I feel as if I’m more concerned about this than Brett, which I told him last night. Great communication on my end: accused him of not wanting to prepare for baby and commented on his general lack of motivation in preparing. No communication on his end. Not to mention I dropped the F bomb several times, it filled in for nouns and verbs, before going to our bedroom in a tiff.
Outside of this incident I’ve been very nonchalant about this pregnancy. For me, I know it comes from experience. Everything will fall into place. Patience is necessary. Freaking out is not. If by chance the baby came tomorrow, we have a bassinet. I have a built-in milk supply. We could easily run to the store, buy diapers, a car seat and a few onsies, and be fine. But type A me has 3 months- 3 months- 3 months echoing in my head, and defined body parts moving around inside of me to remind me of her ever-growing body. I want her little room to be painted and pretty. I want her little clothes to adorn her little wooden hangers.I want her bedding in place. I want her to have a name. As of now she has no confirmed name, and when she comes the nurse will present us with a birth certificate that requires a name.
I’ve never been one to not be prepared. Part of me is totally okay with that this time around. The other part of me feels like that guy sitting in a nest on the side of a really large building.
