According to my dad, if I start to show signs of nesting then I’m about to go into labor in 10 minutes and to please call them. He was pretty emphatic about it too, you know.. from his birthing experiences.

So if this is it, then you better come on down ya’all. And don’t forget your side dishes. We’ll need them for the BBQ.

R is excited. I, on the other hand, am getting worried. About important things too.

Like seriously, what if I forget to shave my legs/bikini area before going into labor. That one’s high on my list. So high, in fact, that I brought up the subject out of nowhere when over at a couple’s house for dinner. Right in between bites of cake. A charged silence ensued and utensils clattered onto plates around the neighborhood. I think I even heard a faint scream of horror a couple streets up. It was awkward, but I pushed forward. People have got to know. Forget about the baby’s or my health, if at any point I realize that I forgot to shave, someone had betTER GET A FRICKIN’ RAZOR, please, CAUSE I’M GOIN’ DOWN.

Hopefully I’ll stick in the ‘please.’

That’s another important worry, (but obviously not as crucial as being well groomed): How nice am I going to stay throughout it all? Last night, R sat with his arm butted against mine during our bible class. A voice came out of me that sounded straight from The Exorcist,  “Your arm hairs are irritating me. Back. [pause] Off.” He looked into my eyes, widened his own, and quickly scooted halfway down the pew to get away.

I mean, really?

Poor R. I think the relaxation techniques we’re practicing are more for him than me. Who knows what force of nature will emenate from the depths of my being while in labor.

But man, will my legs look GREAT or what!

Another worry I had was baby clothes. My sister has been hoarding all of their clothes for when one of us finally got pregnant. Let’s just say, they’ve been down in the basement for a long time. So when she and her three kids visited last weekend, I begged her to bring some along.

It was immediately opened, and I pulled out a newborn outfit. Then promptly fainted. So I’m not going to have an 8-yr old, then? They really do come out that small? This whole, ‘I’m going to carry a fragile little body in my arms’ thing is being taken a bit too far. They’re like nerf footballs, though, right? Don’t answer that.

Along with clothes, the tub was overflowing with receiving blankets. Just those generic ones, which I plan to turn into baby wipes.

If we’re diving into the world of laundering cloth diapers (worry #4), it makes sense to do cloth wipes too.

I mean, I love laundry! Cough, ahem.

At first I debated about making my own solution, which generally includes baby shampoo, tea tree oil, and some other ingredient that I can’t think of right now. I wish that last ingredient were distilled vinegar. Have I mentioned how much of it I have? I’m sure it’s safe on a baby’s skin…. Or at least on a nerf football.

But then I found Lusa Organics “Baby Juice”. The name made me uncomfortable, which is why I just had to have it. (If only to holler in front of company, “Honey!? Could you grab the baby juice!?”) That was a joke because anyone who knows me knows I can’t stand terms of endearment. Well, at least the overuse of them. Once in a while they’re sweet, but if I have to listen to a constant barrage of them, I’ll grab the nearest thing to stick in my eye. Hopefully that nearest thing is string-cheese or something. Then it won’t hurt, and I can eat it afterwards.

But anyway, supposedly the bottle of baby juice lasts a year if you mix a bit with water and spray onto the wipes as needed. Sounds good to me!

So I guess this is where the nesting bit comes into play? I soaked the clothes with light stains in OxyClean and then washed them, along with the other 0-6 mos old outfits. It does make me feel good to reuse all of these. If it’s hard for me to buy new clothes, there’s no way my child will stand a chance. Poor thing. It doesn’t know what its getting into.

After I put those away, I turned to the diapers.

…and washed those as well. The newborn disposables caught my eye and I repeated to myself, “nerf football, nerf football.” Those are TINY.

By the way, I do like when a random garage sale item finds its way into being useful. Like the old clothesline hamper I bought for a pricey $10.

Don’t judge.

The lady threw me off by asking how much I would like to pay for it. I never know how to handle those people. All sorts of thoughts go through my head: should I lick my finger and feel the breeze, what is the weather like, are they hot and want to go inside – so are an easy sell, will I offend her if I go too low, but it’s a garage sale – I want to go low, but I don’t want to offend her, does she get offended easily, will she laugh it off, if she does – will she still be my friend, I know I only met her seconds ago but I think she’d be fun to play parcheesi with, did I put on deodorant this morning, hurry and make a bid – she’s staring at you.

And then I blurted out ten dollars. She was a little too quick to take me up on that offer, which means I failed. Oh well, I love it. Plus, it came with a matching cloth bag of clothes pins which are holding up the curtains behind it. Love details like that.

And then finally, the toy box. Get a good look at your life, kid. You’re obviously going to need one heck of an imagination because toys are not high on my  ‘must have’ list right now.

Yeah, let’s give that nerf ball some chalk to play with. Mother of the year already.

I’m sure it will fill up in no time once the endless ‘why’ questions start. I don’t think the “Ask your father” answer will cut it for very long. Instead, let’s play with Cookie Monster!

I know there has to be other worrying things that are suppressed by my subconscious. And I bet they’ll all come out in that moment when labor has begun. Wait, I really did need a crib??

This is starting to get interesting.