I am huge. My pelvis burns with pain when I try to put pants or underwear on while standing. Turning over in bed is a 10-step process and causes significant pain. I make involuntary moans and groans with standing, sitting and bending over to pick things up off the floor. I am chronically short of breath and in need of a quick trip to the powder room, where the urgency is totally disproportionate to the amount of urine stored. By the end of my workday, my ankles transform into what my sister calls "lunch lady legs." In my head, I am in super-nesting mode but it seems that no matter how hard I try, our house is a disaster. I have yet to wash even a load of clothes for Brooklyn. The crib's not put together. There are spots on the carpet. ARGHHH.
Can you say overwhelmed? Don't worry. My amazing friend Deana has been called in to the rescue. This is not to say that my husband hasn't done a large amount of work, it's just that he has a completely different sense of urgency than me. In other words, this means that he's not at all concerned with the nursery for Brooklyn actually being ready. He is comfortable in the knowledge that I'll just direct him in his tasks, which, let's face it, is true. And further complicating the issue is that my dad's time is more limited now than ever.
I know that it will all work out and nothing has to be perfect to bring a baby home--blah, blah, blah. I also know that once Brooklyn is born, our already messy house will explode. It makes me feel all anxious and sweaty to even think of it.