I keep hearing about this phenomenon known as “nesting”. Supposedly at some point during my gestational months I will be overcome with a strong desire to clean house, organize, scrub toilets, dust baseboards and generally get my house in order.
So far, none of that sounds like very much fun.
Now, I like to entertain, have folks over, cook dinner for a crowd. I enjoy having a quasi-kempt guest room where the in-laws or out-of-town guests can stay should the need for an overnight stay arise. I don’t like sinks full of dirty dishes.
But getting on my hands and knees and scrubbing something? Deep cleaning? Organizing the “nook” where we shove all our unpaid bills and miscellaneous crap?
Puh-lease. I have much better things to do.
As I write this, I sit at a kitchen table covered in papers, unopened mail, half-drunk glasses of water, and other assorted garbage.
I look to my right and see several bags containing The Hubs’ latest haul from Ranch and Home, a couple of golf clubs, and an empty laundry basket.
To my left, the kitchen awaits. Countertops strewn with the fixin’s of a later-today epic bake-off/meal-cook.
Do I have any desire to tidy this mess up?
Not in the slightest.
When can I expect this “nesting” desire to strike? Because I would certainly love to be motivated to do all these odd jobs around the house, I really would.
So far, my nesting instincts (or lack thereof) have me thinking very seriously about hiring a housecleaner.
Anybody want to recommend a good one?
Because I’d rather blog, poke around on Pinterest, and lounge on the couch this afternoon than research reputable housecleaners.
Much like morning sickness, nesting is a pregnancy symptom I seemed to have dodged.