Like epidural and episiotomy, the word nesting meant very little to me before the pregnancy. Having read snippets of books, I learned that nesting was a big sign of imminent birth, and involved an irresistible urge by the heavily pregnant wife to become a domestic ubergoddess. My mind sparked images of Sara cooking full Christmas dinners in August, cleaning underneath the fridge and, in general, having everything OUTRAGEOUSLY spotless for the arrival of the baby.
To my feeble mind, I wondered how a 1-day-old baby who was yet to master focusing could tell exactly how clean the floor under the fridge really was – but by this stage of the pregnancy, I had learned when to keep my ponderings to myself.
Truth be told – I was really, really, really looking forward to this, watching this, savouring this. It seemed to me, a guilt-free moment in the pregnancy to sit back, put the feet on the very clean coffee table and watch my team power through the finals series on my super shiny TV.
While I detected a slight acceleration in cleaning and cooking, and did detect a significant ramping in on-line spending, I think I fell victim to the“a watched pot never boils” quandary.
Omar is very right, I didn't seem to get that urgency to clean like crazy toward the end of the pregnancy, but I had this terrible urge to stay in close proximity to Omar. I even found myself working with him right up until the night I went into hospital. I guess I felt a little scared about my first birth and didn't want to drop the baby at a time and place when Omar wasn't around.