Posts Tagged ‘ hormones ’

Get Your Nest On

Thursday, January 10th, 2013

Usher penned my current feelings so well. Sing it boy, “Oh, no, no, no, no, no…u got it, u got it bad.”

What do I have bad?

Nesting.

I do not remember this case of the nesties the first go round because working full time up until my due date left me no time to nest like I’m doing now. (Read: compulsively sweeping floors and wiping down bathrooms into the wee hours of the morning. Who am I? Not my usual “I clean bathrooms every other week” kind of gal. I know, I disgust me too.)

As the house full of party guests chortled and imbibed (we’re so pretentious) at our New Year’s Eve party, I found myself on my hands and knees, sweeping up food as it fell to the floor. It was in that moment that I realized I was a crazy nesting stereotype.

The one-handed countdown (5 weeks!) to birth has only put my nesting into overdrive.

Rumor has it there are a lot of different ways to nest. Some are the stock their freezers full of prepared meals type. Others are the phased in stacks of fresh laundry type. Me? I fall into two types of nesties.

Online shopping type. Maybe I’m making this up, but I feel compelled to buy things to prep for the baby. Yes, I admittedly love to shop, but now this impulse to find a few new scrumptious baby things feels urgent and primal. Cue frantic tizzy thinking of the diapers and clean onesises still needing to be purchased for baby girl. Heart palpitations. How late is Target open tonight?

Fantasize about organizing type. I cannot open a closet or enter a room without NEEDING to organize it. Typically, making dinner or playing with my daughter trumps any actual organizing, but I stay up to all hours of ungodly thinking of all the things I need to organize.

Lacking actual motivation to execute organizing is also part of nesting. Supposedly, right before a lady goes into labor, she’ll accomplish her organizing fantasies in a spurt of pre-birth energy. Prior to this she may just be too tired to do anything about them.

My sleep deprivation hopes that spurt happens soon because I just can’t quite manage to pull my pregnant apple bottom off the couch to attend to those cluttered closets and rooms. I wouldn’t say I’m a hoarder, just a lady who knows how to throw things in a closet and forget about them. Nesting is numbering my ignoring days though. Husband’s clothes that are not color-coordinated and have not been sorted since high school? You’re high on the hit list.

Bless my family who was in town and helped me deep clean my freezer, organize my spice rack, sort baby clothes, haul donations to charity, and all other sorts of glamorous little nesting priorities last week. I really know how to treat my house guests. They can’t hate me too much. Nature shows all female mammals suffer from the nesties and really it’s a way to prepare hearth and home for the safe and welcoming arrival of a newborn.

I try to explain the feeling of nesting to others but it is hard to describe. How does my husband who still wears some of his high school shirts (the classic ones mind you) that if I haven’t used something in the last 24 hours I now consider it clutter and I must donate it or throw it out or I will combust into a fit of fiery hormones? How do I explain the furious and imminent need rising in my chest to forget anything but spending the evening deep cleaning the baseboards? How are these priorities not everyone’s priorities? Anyone? Bueller?

As my nesties get on everyone’s last nerve here in the homestretch, I ask, please just envision a sweet…uh, hippopotamus trying to spruce up the place for a new little baby bundle. That’s an adorable image no one can reject and much better than the slightly panicked, overwhelmed, unable to relax, weird cleaning lady I’ve become.

Image: Nest via Sergiy Telesh/Shutterstock.com

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Confessions of a Stereotypical Pregnant Lady

Wednesday, November 7th, 2012

Oh hormones.

Pardon my french but they are a total witch sometimes. And by witch I mean pull the 5th grade trick and change the “w” to a “b”. Yeah, I said it.

They do a lady so wrong. They can turn even the nicest of gals (I’m looking at you Kate Middleton, you can’t be immune too because then life really isn’t fair), into the world’s nastiest grumpasarus or the largest producer of saltwater west of the Atlantic.

Here’s a scene for you. It was a lovely Friday morning. The husband and I were at adorable Jack and Jill sinks, simultaneously brushing our teeth, our babe happily running amuck behind us, pretending to brush her teeth as well. Picturesque. Then the Rands had the audacity to say, “What are your plans for today? I don’t know what you guys are up to.”

What the h? Enter dramatic, hurtful tears. I mean how could he? Is it just me or is that an obviously insensitive question? Oh, it’s just me. And my hormones. Poor guy. He didn’t see it coming.

Fact: I have always been a crier. It is my go-to emotion and now with pregnancy, we’ve got sad tears, happy tears, endless tears.

Last week, when some crazy goat lady overly chastised my daughter at the state fair and threatened to spank her, (for doing little wrong, legitimately, I’m not being biased, she was just trying to give your goats a little hay ma’am), I just started to bawl. The mama bear in me wishes I would have said something just as rude to the lady but no, my hormones made me want to turn into a second-grader, crying giant, big, pathetic tears and uttering unintelligible sentences between sobs. Luckily, we kept our dignity intact by walking away and letting the goat lady sort through what I’m hoping was just a crazy hormonal surge as well.

Another fact: I am a dam waiting to burst. Just one television commercial away from losing it at any moment. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve had to pause Grey’s Anatomy because my husband can’t hear over my blubbering. And don’t even get me started on Parenthood. In addition to parental warnings, they need pregnancy warnings on television shows. But then again, who knows what sets a pregnant lady off. I never knew there was more to The Voice than Christina Aguilera’s ample bosom but now, that show moves me…to tears, obviously.

Whether your hormones require you to be pre-emptively incarcerated like a wolfman or a blubbering ball of wasteless space, dem hormones, they real. With my now nightly surge of hormones, cravings, and feelings, I’m pretty certain I’m keeping the cereal companies afloat. Those Lucky Charms really are magically delicious when I need to eat my pregnant feelings.

The thing about hormones is they always feel so real. I mean, even if you know you’re being a crazy lady (I’m looking at you goat lady) you still feel angry, hurt, pissed, TO’ed what have you, and it’s hard to talk you down. I think my feelings about hormones could be best expressed by the 1980s power ballad, “Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore” because it speaks to my moody soul. I can’t fight these hormonal feelings anymore.

The silver lining in all of these hormonal outbursts? My daughter and I have plenty of applicable material for discussions about feelings and understanding the different reasons people cry. Yes, Harper, I’m crying because dad finished off all the Lucky Charms…

Image: Wolfman via Christos Georghiou/Shutterstock.com

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