I laid awake last night and looked at the shadows of bottles and hairbrushes on my bathroom counter. It took all my will power to not get out of bed at 3 am to begin tidying up. I didn’t want to wake up my husband, which is what ultimately kept me from an insane cleaning middle-of-the-night cleaning spree.
At 38 weeks pregnant, I’m in the final stretch of pregnancy and fighting the nesting urge pretty hard. There are just other things, like homeschooling, that need to be higher on my priority list. But I can’t seem to convince my brain and these maternal instincts that memorizing math facts is more important that hand scrubbing the bathroom floor.
My children are bemused by all these goings on. I’m not normally the world’s greatest housekeeper, but 38 weeks into pregnancy and I become a cleaning machine.
They say things to me like: “The baby’s not going to notice how clean the floors are, you’re not going to put her down anyway.”
“Is she going to really care if you’ve scrubbed out the inside of all the trashcans?”
“What does it matter to her if the oven is clean?”
The fact of the matter is that it probably won’t matter to her at all. As long as her belly is full and her bottom is dry, the rest of it won’t mean a whole lot to a girl who can only see a few feet away from her face.
It matters to me.
In a few days/weeks, we’re going to be meeting one of the most important people we will ever know, more important that royalty or celebrities. This girl we know nothing about will be instantly an integral part of our lives, as necessary to us as breathing. My bag is packed, the freezer is filling with food, her clothes are washed and put away. All that remains is to make our home ready for this all-important person to arrive.
My 15-year-old just said “Mom, calm down, it’s not like we’re expecting the Queen of England or anything.” No, we’re not. We’re expecting someone so much cooler, so pick up a rag and get to work!
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