Nesting

So Pamela commented last night about when I'm nesting--really nesting--then this baby is going to come within 24 hours. I'm taking a moment to assess if I have really gotten into nesting yet. . .with the move, it has been difficult to tell. . .

I'm conducting a rating system to see if I'm in full nesting mode or not--you tell me. . .

FIVE: number of casseroles I've made--AND FROZEN--in the last week. This is not counting an additional casserole and pot of soup that I froze previously.

TWELVE: spare square inches of space left in our freezer

ONE: items of Tupperware left in my cabinets to be shuffled around for packing DH's lunch every day very creatively. All other Tupperware? In the FREEZER.

THREE HUNDRED AND NINETY: pictures I've put in scrapbooks in the past two days

SIX: hours I worked nonstop scrapbooking yesterday

ONE: scrapbook I actually finished in six hours of scrapbooking yesterday

SIXTY: minutes of walking and working out on the elliptical yesterday to jiggle this baby out

FIVE: number of weeks I've been procrastinating ironing all of my DH's dress shirts for work

TEN: number of seconds it took to drop off said dress shirts at the dry cleaners today to finally get it done

ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO: number of boxes I unpacked while moving

EIGHT: boxes of stuff I gave away to charity after unpacking

FOUR: times I've vacuumed in the past week. Okay, so with two dogs, this is not terribly abnormal, but I thought I'd mention it. . .

SEVENTEEN: times I've bugged my DH about hanging/hammering/drilling/measuring something in the baby's room

ZERO: number of things left to do in the baby's room before it can be occupied by a small human

ELEVEN: days until my due date. Not that it means anything. I mean, this is a first baby, and they will let me go until 41 weeks 6 days before they will induce. (That's July 13 for you math types)

SEVENTY: average number of minutes I can sleep at a stretch without having to go to the bathroom. That is, if I can get to sleep. . .

THREE: centimeters dilated

SEVENTY-FIVE: percent effaced

[Seriously, I am talking about my nether regions here. Does anyone but my find it weird that at this stage in pregnancy you can talk about your hoo-hoo with complete strangers like it is perfectly normal? And that perfect strangers actually ask you about these things at the Starbucks??? So because of that, I've decided it is blog-appropriate.]

THIRTY-EIGHT: weeks I loved every moment of being pregnant. Now I'm just ready to meet this kid!

And I know KidZilla will make his or her appearance at the perfect time--his or her time, that is. So we really aren't in much of a hurry. I mean, we'll have this kid forever, so a few more days or weeks doesn't really make that much of a difference. . .

Or at least I wasn't in a hurry as long as I was sleeping really well. Like, until a few days ago. Now that I am sleeping like crap, I figure we can go ahead and have our life be changed forever.
By the way. . .
I totally love how perfect strangers like to try to scare you about having kids and how "horrible" it is. ??? Complaining about hating your kids makes you sound like parent of the year for sure, buddy. Like I'm going to listen to someone I totally do not know. Puh-leez.


PS: I made the lasagna Pioneer Woman has/had the recipe for up on her site and it is to.die.for. It also feeds an army. I swear the pan weighed 20 lbs. I considered lifting that pan as my arm workout for the day.