I started my maternity leave a week early, because I knew I'd be a complete waste a work (a) and (b) I wanted time to clean and get ready for the Lima Bean's impending arrival. But if I'm honest with myself, I think I just wanted time to sit around and put my feet up because, for real y'all, I have absolutely no urge to nest. I'm looking around at the piles of stuff that need to be done *cough*laundry*cough* and merely think "I still have yoga pants I can fit in. The laundry can wait."
I should be stocking my freezer with meals The Fiance™ can heat up for the trolls, but he already bought out the frozen pizza aisle, so I'm using that as justification for not doing any cooking if I can avoid it. Which is weird, because I usually love cooking. And the trolls are with The Ex this week, so you'd think I'd want to take advantage of the unencumbered time to get shit done. But no. We have pizza in the freezer, so we're good.
I have, like, the opposite of nesting right now. Maybe it's because I know, in the back of my mind, that the next five years are going to consist of anything but rest. It'll be a non-stop whirlwind of sleepless nights, chasing a toddler, making trolls pick up after themselves and chasing a five-year-old around before I can finally just take a nap. Seriously, I won't be able to nap for years. That's some ole bullshit, if you ask me.
Besides, moving around too much makes me feel like I'm going into labor. And when I feel like I'm going into labor, I get all freaked-the-hell-out. And when I get all freaked-the-hell-out, I make The Fiance™ time my phantom contractions while I whine and cry like a baby. Then he falls asleep and, magically, my contractions become more manageable. And when my contractions become more manageable, I want to take a nap. And when I want to take a nap, I don't want to clean. So, really, it's best if I just skip all the whining and crying and go take a nap.
It's called logic, y'all.