The Dangerous Side of Nesting...

The "nesting" stage is getting completely out of hand.

While walking home from work today, I began to think about all the things that still need to be done to get the apartment ready for Baby. Her designated "nursery" has been occupied with all kinds of junk for the past year and a half, and that junk hasn't been the easiest stuff to clear out. Between the Wet N Dry Vac, the five pancake skillets and the forgotten "Rock Band" drum set, we've accumulated a whole lot of crap in just two years of marriage.

And today, it all had to go.

So I came home, gulped a can of DDP and got down to business. The room HAD to be cleaned out. No matter how long it took. No matter how many garbage bags I had to fill. My kid would have a beautiful (and junk-free) abode, if it killed me.

It was at this point, my friends, that the crazy pregnant brain threw inhibition to the wind and convinced my very pregnant self to engage in some extremely idiotic behavior.

Let's just say boxes were moved. Boxes filled to the brim with books. Heavy books. And Reece's grandfather's 600 pound trunk may have made its way into the next room. A bench may have drifted into the living room on its final journey to DI.

After about 15 minutes of pushing, pulling, heaving and kicking, something occurred to me.

I AM 34 WEEKS PREGNANT. The belly that kept getting in the way, is currently housing a person.

The moral of this story is as follows:

Pregnant women (specifically those with OCD tendencies) should NEVER be left unsupervised in a room full of heavy crap.

That's all I'm saying.

(On a less painful note, we have our crib bedding! Now that I think of it, I blame the crib bedding for the crazy, irresponsible lapse in judgment)