I'm 36 weeks pregnant, and today I'm scrubbing the plastic window blinds in the bathtub. With shower gel, no less...my entire apartment smells delightful and 'Moonlit Path-y.'
This mad sort of nesting impulse is, apparently, a precursor to labor in many instances. I'm not too sure it means anything at all for me though...I've been having similar bursts of energy to power similar compulsions for months now. I've stood at work, mentally going through my closet and deciding what clothing to get rid of, fantasized about organizing the cabinets while at Target, imagined sorting and re-allocating my dresser drawers while trying to decide what to make for dinner. It's madness, but once an idea plants itself in my head, RoundUp wouldn't kill it. Two nights ago, I patched all of Chris's holey pants. I now wish he had more semi - destroyed clothing so I could continue sewing productively.
Know what's funny though? None - or at least most - of this productivity is going to make any difference in the long run. While clean window blinds and un-greasy refrigerator tops and sparkling kitchen floors are nice, a) they'll never stay that way, and b) we won't likely be living in this apartment for more than six months or so. It's a lovely little place for two people, but it would be a bit of a nightmare with an ambulatory third person. There simply isn't enough storage to keep everything out of reach of small hands, and there's no room for toy clutter of any kind. There isn't a corner we can designate a play area, and sharing a bedroom with a toddler might get old.
Oh well. Knowing that almost nothing about our current living situation is permanent (or even indefinitely workable) diminishes my sense of accomplishment somewhat, but not enough to stop me from prying the other two windows' worth of blinds out of their brackets and throwing them in the bathtub.