As the baby’s due date gets closer and closer, I’ve really started to feel it. My outwardly lax attitude that I’ve had for the majority of this pregnancy is quickly fading. We are having a baby, and we are having one really soon.
It was time I started the “nesting” process. You know, everything you have to do to prepare for the arrival of a baby. So while Aya’s personality had changed into a hormonal naggy wife, I’ve turned into a Type A organizational control freak.
First of all, I don’t like the term “nesting.” It makes perfect sense and it is very descriptive. It’s just one of those vocab words from the parenting world I’ve never been super comfortable with. Like “binky,” or “lovey.” I’ve quietly boycotted those words. Plus, I don’t think nesting is 100% accurate. Nesting has this gentle calming sound to it. You picture a sweet mother bird quietly building her nest. “Chirp chirp,” says the bird. But from what I’ve gathered from other expectant parents in the “nesting” process, it’s not always so calm. So I’ve developed a new term to describe this action. P.H.A.B.ing. Preparing Hysterically for Arrival of the Baby. I’m mad PHABing right now!
My PHABing efforts really started out more like PABing. My plan was to stay localized in Ellie’s closet and room (Ellie and the baby will be sharing a room) and keep things straight forward and simple. But very quickly my plans escalated at an exponential rate and so did my hysteria.
It started with buying plastic storage bins. I needed storage bins for Ellie’s closet and dresser. I didn’t think I was that picky of a person, but after traveling to four different Target stores just to get plastic containers with the same color lid, I realized, maybe I am a bit particular. This was just the beginning though.
As I went through Ellie’s closet, there were a lot of items that needed to get redistributed. This redistribution process led me to other closets in other rooms all the way to the basement. Before I knew it, I had the house torn to pieces because I was reorganizing everything.
And when I mean everything, I mean everything. Ellie’s sock drawer, my sock drawer, the silverware drawer, and the junk drawer. The pantry cabinets along with all of the kitchen cabinets. I searched and bought more baskets and bins to organize. Bed Bath and Beyond, JoAnns, Meijer, Target, The Christmas Tree Shop, and countless dollar stores. You name it, I’ve been there hunting and searching for the perfect priced, size, and color storage container for my reorganizational efforts. The only area I’m purposely not reorganizing right now is my spice rack. And that’s only because I’ve decided I need to build it myself to make it perfect. I figured I’ll wait until after the baby arrives before I implement Phase 2 of my spice rack hysteria. (Phase 1 was completed awhile ago and was a huge success, but things have changed since then.)
I know it’s in my best interest to stay out of Aya’s closet. I don’t want to go there. It wasn’t even an option. It’s like a woman’s purse. There are just some things in life you leave alone. I know this. However, I thought the basement would be fair game.
Part of my reorganization strategy involves purging. Purging clutter, purging things we don’t use and things we don’t need. I want to have a fresh start as much as possible with this new life change coming. So being in the basement and seeing Aya’s collection of magazines and catalogs dating back 10 years, I figured it fell under the “don’t need” and “don’t use” category.
I texted Aya, “Do we really need Japanese underwear catalogs from 2002?”
And her response was, “YES!!!”
(Yes, it’s pretty bad if a guy is pleading with his wife to throw away lingerie catalogs)
Aya likes to hoard magazines. Vogue, Lucky, Domino, various issues of People, Time, Rolling Stone, and Japanese magazines litter the basement. They are taking up too much valuable real state and I’m pushing for them to go. I think I’m well within reason to make such a request, right?
Brave, neurotic, crazy, stupid? Â Maybe all of the above.
Either way, I think “nesting” just doesn’t quite cover it. Unless it’s N.E.S.T.ing.
Newborn Erratic Systematizing Transition.
Well then yes, I’m NESTing. Room by room, closet by closet, I’m organizing and checking things off my list with intense vigor, but the basement and its magazines remain an open issue. I’ll save that battle for another day.