Aren’t pregnant women meant to have the nesting instinct? It turns out that E’s instinct is more to hibernate. I don’t blame her – I’d rather like to curl up under my duvet all day too. It’s dark and it’s cold and it’s wet out and the house has way too many drafts to encourage getting up. I suppose she may as well lie-in whilst she’s got the chance.
But meanwhile the rest of us are doing the nesting for her.
Up until this week she’s had a typical teenager bedroom. The room that defies the laws if physics, since things go up but never come down. Although the remains left in bowls seem to have tried to develop the ability to escape from The Pit themselves.
She’s maintained it’s all her twin sister’s fault since they’ve shared a bedroom. S’s side of the room has definitely suffered the most with dubious carpet stains. And yet her room at university is immaculate. (Well, except for a large blue mark on the wall, but that was caused by me crashing into the wall knee first in dark blue jeans whilst playing Spin on her chair.) A definite disconnect – maybe E has been sabotaging S’s side of the room, or maybe S has had an epiphany of personal accountability now that she has a room of her own. Yet it’s still the blame game when it comes to the stain.
Thankfully E’s boyfriend has realised that it’s preferable to have a room in which you can put the baby down without fear of losing it under a pile of clothes and that discarded nail varnish bottles probably don’t make the best play things.
So the room has been scrubbed into submission. Instead of mugs and bowls, polish and rubber gloves have disappeared upstairs. I’ve been questioned on every aspect of stain removal. And the vacuum has worked harder than it has before. Attachments have even been used! We’ve got side plates and glasses in the kitchen cupboard again, the bowls with dubious content are soaking (although possibly should be sent to a lab for testing) and I’ve even got my hairdryer back (which the twins vowed they didn’t have).
Whilst all this has been going on, E has sat on her bed moaning. Such is the hormone-adled prerogative of the pregnant woman, I suppose. But kudos to her boyfriend for biting his lip and carrying on.
Meanwhile I’ve had the pleasure of ironing tiny items of baby clothes that I’ve requisitioned from friends to whom I passed on Noodles’ baby things. Ironing is really not so arduous when the clothes are so very small. Too too cute. And so this baby isn’t entirely and hand-me-down baby I’ve been to the shops for even smaller newborn sleepsuits and vests, dinky mittens and hats. The sort of thing that makes your uterus skip a beat.
So the room is ready, the hospital bag packed, the crib is in place and unless 3 people have beaten me to it, a double buggy should be in our possession by Monday. The next bit is all down to E though. We can be by her side, but nobody can squeeze the baby out for her. Maybe that’s why she’s staying put under her duvet!