On Saturday morning I texted my hairdresser while waiting impatiently for an appointment I thought she was late for. Come to find out, it was for next Saturday and was clearly marked on the appointment reminder card I had referenced ten times prior to the appointment and written on the chalkboard to remind myself of.
This weekend we had a goal of having the house prepped and ready for all the Easter guests we’re expecting for Easter weekend. In the process of “cleaning” I managed to distract myself with about five different projects that included the organization and sterilizing of every single one of Gwen’s toys, the creation of a pallet into a frame (which I managed to dump paint directly from the bucket onto our lawn) and instagram photos to name a few.
Our bathrooms are still dirty, the guest bed is unmade and the floors aren’t swept but by golly are my bookshelves organized and styled and do certain parts of the house that were bothering me look more polished.
It was a weird weekend that left me realizing, night after night when I crumbled into a heap of utter exhaustion, I’m pregnant. Not just the “I get to whine that I have morning sickness” kind of pregnant. Nope, we’ve upgraded to the crazy part where nesting takes over and pregnancy brain leaves you sitting in a hair salon for an appointment that doesn’t exist. Oh, it’s just wonderful being pregnant, you know?
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