Nesting; waiting for a new arrival

It seems to be chaos everywhere. Everywhere I look I see things that need organising, or things that are out of place, things that I need to “align”, dust off or put in height order. It comes over me like a form of irritation, not unlike a rash that suddenly emerges on your arm and you have no choice but to do something about it. Today I decided to clear out my sons’ wardrobe, refold everything and recycle whatever was no longer required. That wardrobe became one of my projects and it was impossible to rest until the trousers were neatly resting next to the shorts, with in front of them a perfect pile of t-shirts and underwear. Separately I had created a shelf with school and sportswear. What has become of me?! Is this what they call so ungracefully “nesting”?! It is a downright nuisance! You would think that after my little wardrobe adventure I would feel a level of satisfaction, but no, my brain (and I am not sure whether it is operating with or without me at the moment) is on to other wardrobes in the house, planning ahead to restructure my office and tackle a wide variety of admin duties. Honestly, is this how one is waiting for a new arrival? Am I really no more than a mixing pot of hormones and instincts actively collecting branches and worms for my baby birds?

Nesting - Awaiting the new arrival

The shotgun to officially start the countdown of the last few weeks of this last trimester has been well and truly heard by every cell in my alienated body. No longer do I get mildly upset by the fact that when I am in the bath my boobs rest on my belly and my belly rests on my thighs. My body feels like an ice-cream with extra scoops (scoops I didn’t have before, scoops I don’t mind melting!). I have given up looking at my ever so bizarre profile view in the mirror, which can only make me conjure up images of what I might have untowardly swallowed….a football or a basket ball, a watermelon… I have accepted that sighing (when sitting down, when standing up, when getting up in the morning) is temporarily part of life. And now I guess I need to go with the flow of dusting, straightening, organising, structuring, filing as part of the ritual of making my nest.

But it is odd. Not only has my body been taken over by forces that are so overwhelmingly strong that I cry, no sob, at an Eastenders episode, my brain seems to have been invaded by a mild form of OCD that is impossible to shake off. I have found myself making sure there are supplies in the freezer to easily knock up in the event that I am not here or distracted. Extra fish fingers packs have found their way into my shopping trolley, as well as extra packs for easily made chicken fajitas. I told my husband that the very thing that would make me happy was a clean car, (a clean car!!) probably in the same breath that I put out the hints about “a tidy garden with some colour”.

Perhaps it’s easier forgiving myself, this is human programming at its best. I thought I had surrendered a few times along the road of this journey, but now I will truly and honestly get out of my own way and let it happen. I will humbly be the run way for this baby to arrive in the world and no doubt at some point in the next 12 months, I will get a grip.

Spending Time

What –indeed- have we got
unless we spend the most valuable
currency of all,


Unless we spend time
we are like ships in the night
deer running in a dark forest
blinded participants of life
holding the donkey’s tail
and a faded map

Life stirs, unfolds, reacts
bubbles up, evolves
where life meets life
where words and laughter flow
the energy of
crossing paths
of inter and action
where the friend or the
acquaintance happens to hold
your key.

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