Nesting. It's happening.

Let's be clear: I hate the term "nesting." It's like using the term "boyfriend" when you're dating in your late 30s. It's just weird. Nevertheless, it's happening over here.

I went to the doctor today and had progressed from 1cm and 50% effaced last week to 2cm and almost 90% effaced this week. And she's low. Waaaay low. Translation: that sweet baby girl of mine could come any day now. So, at 37 weeks, I came home a little freaked out. Naturally, I started dusting and cleaning the bathrooms and making a list of things I need to make lists about. I contemplated a grocery run, finishing packing my bag, researching "labor signs," vacuuming out my car, and making sure the car seat was actually clean. I've actually been "nesting" for weeks now, having been to the grocery store no fewer than two times a week, running crazy amounts of laundry, and even thinking about tackling that grimy, hard-to-reach place in my kitchen sink.

But in the midst of my nesting frenzy tonight (and to be clear, I did clean some things and make some lists), I also had an intense desire to be really present, so I held Moo close and long, and I edited some documents for a friend, and I ate dinner with my family, and it was good. Very, very good. And blissfully normal.

Nesting seems a lot like keeping your house clean when it's on the market. Try as you may to maintain that readiness to have visitors, it's likely that your realtor will call you when it's nap time and there's crushed cereal on the ground from breakfast and you're not sure if your toddler actually flushed his poop down the toilet this time. You just can't ever be totally prepared for these things.

But it sure would be nice if Baby Girl came on a day when my fridge was stocked, my house was clean, my toddler was happy and healthy, and my husband was off. Just sayin'.