Tag!

So, Baby Daddy and I had a pretty crappy day and treated ourselves to Chinese to cheer us up. Afterwards, I don't know if I got jazzed from the sesames or what, but I had a burst of energy like you would not believe. So, I sat down and wrote out and addresses every single thank-you card that I had to write. Oh! What a good feeling to get that done. It hasn't even been two weeks, and I was already terrified that I was bordering on the obscenely rude.

After that, I still had some in me, so I attacked Baby Stuff Mountain. I won. I pulled out every single onesie, blanket, cap, pair of socks, swimsuit, sleeper, hat, and plushie and removed the tag and get them into her laundry basket so that everything will be freshly washed when she gets here. Everything...and I do mean everything...had a gigantic tag on it! Naturally, they must all be removed and garments thoroughly searched for the remaining little bits of plastic. We can put a man on the moon, but we can't figure out a better way to package socks? I'm not going to even start on the number of things that were taped together. I'll bet the petroleum wasted could have paid for my kid's college fund one day.

I got the bathroom stuff into the bathroom. I got the feeding stuff into the kitchen. I got the toys into her toybox. I'm on fire!

Except, I still don't have any room to put half this stuff, but at least now the rest of it is in a very organized pile.

You know, the first sign that you're becoming your mother is cleaning like her. Now, my mother keeps a house so clean, you could operate on her floors. She lives in fear that she'll die, and when the paramedics come, they'll find.....A DIRTY DISH IN THE SINK!!! Oh Lordy, no! So, she developed the completely rational habit of picking up every dish she sees and washing it. Even if you have food on it. Just made a drink? The fullness of the glass and the freshness of the ice can only mean that it's near to rotting and she must get it into the sink immediately.

So, as much as I generally hate to do the dishes, I've been thinking about attacking them next. Note, I said thinking. I may be nesting, but I'm not stupid. As long as I can keep Matt convinced that the sight and smell of them will make me throw up, I think I'll just leave them stacked neatly in his corner. After all, "I'm carrying your child, you have to do the dishes!!"