I haven't had any energy these last few weeks. I have felt so overwhelmed by housework that I almost called Molly Maid this morning to come dig us out. I like to clean. It takes a lot to reduce me to the couch dweller I had become but frequent, long, and pinchy Braxton Hicks contractions did the trick. I'd have them in the morning and they'd slow me down. I'd have them during the day and they'd cut my outings short. I'd have them all evening-- triggered by the slightest motion, noise or even change in light-- and they'd make December 20th seem so very, very far away.
Then, at exactly four O'clock this afternoon, nesting hit. There must be a rush of adrenaline that accompanies this sudden burst of energy and desire to clean because the change is so sudden and dramatic. Since four, I have cleaned two bathrooms, vacuumed, tidied and scrubbed anything that dared to cross my path. I laundered a perfectly clean shower curtain and set of towels because I thought I could get them brighter. That red wax mark on the wall by the boys' bedroom that taunted me for the last month? Got it. The one on the ceiling, too. My outlets and switches are streak free, and the toaster shines. I've washed walls, many walls, I still have more walls to wash. Bring 'em on. I don't even feel pregnant anymore, except that there's this thing in the way when I reach under toddler beds and try to squeeze--dust pan in hand-- behind a half pulled out fridge. There's more to be done and thought of it thrills me. I'll get some brushes and touch up paint. I'll get to those closets and unpack the last of the books. I'll winterize the back porch furniture as I've been meaning to, finish up the Christmas shopping, and baking for Thanksgiving. If you're a part of my life, chip in or get out of the way. Should you cross my path and I accidentally comb you, bleach you, or completely reorganize you, I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped and mother nature seems to want it this way.