Mental Nesting

Nesting. I mockingly chuckle at the idea of it when I'm not pregnant, but when I am I can't deny the strange desire, no, NEED, to do it. It's bizarre really. Part of the need this time around is the thought that with two kids I'll never have time or energy to organize anything ever again. Dramatic, I realize. Irrational? Likely. But my reality none the less. What's hard is not knowing where I should nest. We are in the process of finding the right house for our expanding brood. It's not as fun a process as I anticipated. And I've been anticipating it for at least 5 years now. Probably more.

As my belly gets bigger, the house gets smaller. I drank the potion and am expanding by the second. It definitely feels like the walls are closing in and the doorways getting smaller. I'm not sure how I fit through them the last time! The booger has no designated room. I have no designated space. There's no room anywhere for Sam to put anything he might get for his upcoming 2nd birthday. And all I want to do is figure out where to create the space. Figure out where I can put this and that. Try to remember where the tiny baby things are. Some is in storage. Some in the basement. Some probably still behind Sam's crib where he likes to hide things. It's a mess. My head is a mess trying to sort it all out. I've been trying to busy myself with other things to distract from this feeling, but what happens is I'm feeling it anyway and the other things get pushed to the side. I am not even 100% sure what we are going to name this kid, I need to have something real here to feel like he is actually coming.

So while I try to figure out how to do that, Sam is distracting me every day. In a good way (usually). He is obsessed with "taking pictures". He talks about the car-car all day long. He screams with glee at the finale of the Sesame Street song. He wants to be so helpful - feeding Daisy (which he really does), putting things in the trash (and most of the time they actually belong there), trying to put on his own socks (which he gave up on and put one on his nose the other day). He mimics our actions, and thankfully not our words yet. Well at least my words. Phil doesn't say bad words.

His giggles, smiles, and ornery tactics make me smile entirely too much each day. I fear I'm relying too much on him to keep me from going into a bad funk while we search for our house and get through this stressful time. But I don't think he feels the pressure. I think he just feels love. He loves to hug tight. To sneak into a spot I was sitting as soon as I move out of it just to tease me. To hide something I'm looking for and put his pointer finger to his lips and say "Hmmmm" as he pretends to be unaware of where it is. Without those things, my day would simply suck. And the drool. Oh yes, there is still an INSANE amount of drool. I don't even care anymore. It took almost 2 years for me to not care. But really, it's just plain weird there's so much of it it's become comical. Still incredibly gross, but comical.

My funny valentine. What would I do without you?