Friday: Scotty decided to nap strike, so I threw him in the stroller and proceeded to march to the nearest park, about 1.5 miles away. Uphill. But, the weather was terrific and we both sported cute hoodies, so all was good. (and the walk back was thankfully downhill.)
On Saturday, I did the yard work, hit the gym, and the nail salon while Brian and the Bear went to Paid Humiliation. (FYI: Gel nails are no joke. As you may recall from a previous post, I decided to go with a dark nail color as a result of my Boot Camp empowerment. Well, the nail tech talked me into doing a gel manicure - "Exactly like nail polish but it will last longer and not chip!" I agreed. Fast forward to two weeks later, and this manicure is still going strong. Except the my nails have started to grow out, and I am sick to death of Vamp; I kind of look vampy and my once-square nails are getting dangerously long. When I tried to soak off the polish, imagine my surprise when it didn't budge. Not an inch. I tried to peel it off but along with the polish came the entire top layer of my nail. Owwww. I decided to just go back to the salon and see if they could help me. Well, to the cost of an additional $10, they sanded my polish off. With that little drill bit thing. Yeah, 'exactly like nail polish' my arse. I'm sticking with nude nails for the forseeable future, thankyouverymuch).
Anyways...after all that drama, Scotty went down for a nap like a champ and Brian and I cleaned out the garage. Like, seriously cleaned. We have a huge pile of stuff to be donated, another pile of Craigslist stuff, and Brian went to the dump no less than three times. I swept the garage from top to bottom. Later, we had a great dinner with friends and Scotty actually fell asleep in the car on the way home.
Today I woke up with an insatiable desire to make meatballs (currently cooling on the counter). I also have a grocery list in front of me with all the ingredients needed to make (and freeze) bolognese sauce, minestrone soup, and several varieties of muffins. Mind you, this is after I cleaned Scotty's stroller ("de-Cheerio'd" if you will), organized his secret closet, and emptied some more boxes. I was seriously considering organizing the recycling (and washing out the bins) and trying to squeeze in some vacuuming when it hit me...
I am nesting.
Is it the weather? My mom's eminent arrival in ten days? (We like to fool her into believing we are clean, organized people.) No, it's much more simple than that: I am nesting like I'm about to have a child. Except I'm having a fibroid. A large, healthy, well-nourished fibroid by all accounts. It's causing me to have this crazy desire to organize my house, right down to scrubbing out the garbage can because in two weeks, I'm going to have a fibroid.
(is anyone going to send us Lou Malnati's as a congratulations? I doubt it.)
Yes, the surgery is identical to a c-section (minus that whole 'shelling the peach' thing v. pulling out a baby), but oh my gosh, this is so strange. I mean, I never got a chance to nest while pregnant with Scotty; I just barked orders from my supine position on the couch. And now, with the thought that my beloved routine is going to be interrupted for four to six weeks, I am scrambling to cross my 'ts' and dot my 'i's'. Quickly. In the form of exercise, cleaning, and cooking.
Like a crazy person.
We need to buy a bigger freezer.
T-minus 14 days and counting.
(I would write more, but I just noticed the baseboards need to be scrubbed. And this computer screen is dirty.)