I used to laugh when I read blogs by women who were about to give birth and frantically ran around cleaning their houses. "Please," I thought. "That will never be me."
As with so many things, I spoke too soon. I still have no desire to get down on hands and knees and scrub the bathroom floor, but I have a strong urge to knit goods for E (I started a sweater for him today, it is very petite and cute) and clear out tons of junk. Mindful of the childbirth teacher's warning to the husbands ("Your wives will give all your stuff to Goodwill!"), I am concentrating on getting rid of my own junk.
I'm performing a cookbook purge, having realized that I only make a few recipes over and over, while other ones will never be tried. My SIL will be the lucky recipient of three cookbooks, and the rest? Who knows. The laundry room? The dump? Some of them are freakin' heavy, too.
In fact, I have a systematic urge to go through every room in the house and throw out whatever I don't use. The urge is powerful and primal, almost like adolescent hormones. I want to get a crib earlier than D does, too. And I'm going to do it! It's bookmarked at target.com, and come late April, I'm ordering it. So there.