There came a point in my pregnancy when I became focused on a certain activity. It obsessed my thoughts all day long. It was constant. And the more I did it, the better I felt. Prior to my pregnancy, it was something I liked to do and tried to make time for. But as my pregnancy progressed, it became something that I could not go one day without doing.
It was The Big O....Organization. All the pregnancy books call it “nesting.” For me, as the baby’s arrival grew closer, I had to have everything in my house in just the right place. It started with the baby’s room . . . painting the walls, displaying the perfectly matched bedding and accessories, washing and putting away his clothes, all the clothes. Each little outfit was carefully hung in his closet. His tiny socks, sleepers, and hats, folded and placed in their own basket on the shelves of the changing table. The toys, toiletries, blankets, diapers, wipes……everything. I was so organized. I was crazy.
Once I was finished with every other room in the house, I started tackling projects that I hadn’t looked at since moving in. My husband awoke early one morning to find the spot next to him cold and empty. He rubbed his eyes as he walked and followed a light shining in from another room. “What are you doing?” he asked me. “It’s 4:00am.” “Oh, I couldn’t sleep and decided to alphabetize our CD collection,” I responded. “Would you put The Steve Miller Band under S for Steve or T for The?” He just shook his head and went back to bed. He was used to it by now.
All our clothes were arranged by color in both our closet and dresser drawers. I bought baskets and bins and every little thing had its own place in each closet. All the cans and food packages were carefully stacked (and organized by food type and meal that it was used for) and turned so all labels were visible upon opening the cabinet doors. I don’t know what I was thinking. This thing had taken me over.
The night my water broke and I went into labor, my husband carried our bags out to the car and returned inside only to find me hanging pictures up on the walls. “We have to go to the hospital! What are you doing?” he asked in a panic. “I have been meaning to hang these pictures.” I answered calmly, not taking my eyes off the wall. “Since when? We have lived here for almost 3 years!” I now know what he was thinking. CUCOO! CUCOO! She is INSANE! No, not insane, just pregnant.
This, of course was my first child. I had time to obsess. I had time to organize. It was a good thing I took all that time to get my house in order. I would not have time to do it again for years and certainly not be able to keep it that way.
My two pregnancies that followed never went to that extreme. With my second son, I hoped only to have my first son’s baby scrapbook finished before he was born. With my third, I was challenged just to get weekly housework like laundry and vacuuming done. Basic cleaning was a gratifying accomplishment. Every time I was able to wash a load of clothes, fold it and put it away in the SAME day, I wanted to celebrate.
As I look back, it was good to have something to keep me busy. As crazy as it seemed, it was productive. I have fond memories of the order and neatness my house displayed during that time. My question for my husband, “Was it just as good for you?”