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My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.

Sunday, August 28, 2011

Nesting as a Grandmother

So, the impending birth of our first grandson, Christopher Corry, is just around the corner. There is quite a bit to do before this little fellow arrives on the scene.  After all, its "nesting" time here at the McArthur household.  I am sure my husband will enjoy this aspect of pregnancy.  Lord knows, I do.

So, what's with nesting?  Do any of my readers know of its origin?  Throughout history, it seems that women about to drop a baby go through a phase of psychotic cleaning.  For someone like me, who needs help in cleaning every hour of every day, nesting has its advantages and rewards.  I am finding items that I thought I had lost long ago.  I am still searching for my Irish Sweepstakes/Bond ticket.  It's gotta be somewhere in the house.

Nesting - apparently occurs near the end of pregnancy.  These unrealistic tendencies come to fruition about a month before a baby arrives.  A soon to be mom will go on a cleaning rampage.  Not just a wipe of the swiffer or a spray of Windex, but a frenzy that resembles sharks tearing into chum.  In late November 1983, while I was awaiting the birth of my now pregnant daughter Eryn, I actually cleaned the ceiling.  Yes, that's right - the CEILING!  I couldn't help myself.  It was like I was possessed by Mr. Clean, and was searching, literally chasing the dragon of Mr. Clean.  Then there was the removal of anything that sat idle for more than a few minutes.  The bathroom vanity annoyed me, the base of the toilet needed to be pristine.  I became obsessed with cleaning doorknobs and door hinges.  It was like Martha Steward on steroids.  Santa Barbara was getting a fall cleaning, and I was the master mind behind it all.  Whew,  I am exhausted just thinking about it.

Now, with our first little grandson about to make an appearance the first week of October, I find myself, as a grandmother, beginning the ritual of deep cleaning. I just finished ripping the bed apart to wash the frame,  bleach the mattress pad, iron the bed skirt, and spray Febreeze on every viable surface within a 10 mile radius.  And as I had mentioned a few days ago, on Facebook, I have had a hot date all weekend with Murphy's Wood Soap, Windex and Pledge.  My husband is west, near Brown's Park, camping with the dog, and I am on a mission - a cleaning, nesting, frenzied mission to clean.  Laundry is spinning, and the ironing  board is up, and I will begin to starch and press the bed linens to crisp perfection. 

I wonder if my daughter is experiencing this bizarre ritual yet?  Has she looked around and decided that all light bulbs in Southern California need to be cleaned?  What about the rail in the closet where hangers hang?  Have the window screens come out, and are they being soaked in water and peroxide to ensure complete dust removal?  Its enough to drive any sane man out of his mind.  No doubt my husband will return home tonight, 3 days of dirt with him, and walk into the house and turn on his heel, thinking... "Oh no, Ann has flipped her lid..."  or maybe he will thank our daughter Eryn for having a baby, and having our home in pristine shape.  It's not like our daughter is going to come to Colorado and give birth to Christopher Corry on the kitchen floor - although it is clean enough!

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