Having never been restricted to bed during the change of seasons before, it has never occurred to me just how much of a clean-freak I can be. Please note that I said "can be", because no one will ever accuse me of being a neatnik on a regular, full-time basis.
But now as I sit in my bed (45 degree angle and all; I follow orders well), I am overcome with the urge to dust, scrub, mop and re-arrange. Unless I am going to bestow all of that cleaning impulse on my night stand (man, that sucker would SPARKLE!), it ain't going to happen. I know I can't get up and wash the bathroom door (so many fingerprints!!!) or clean out my closet. But thinking about these things makes my feet bounce with anxiety underneath the duvet.
How will I be able to hold still for the next 8 weeks while the weather turns and the house begs for a good wash-down? I have a tendency towards one big "this place better shine like the top of the Chrystler building" a la Mrs. Hannigan per year and this year I am going to miss it. That's it. I might develop a twitch over this.
Yes, yes, yes; we could get a house-cleaner (or a team might be more fitting), as everyone has been urging us, but that would not alleviate the urge I have to take matters into my own hands and scrub. It would just make me antsy as others scurried around me in a flurry of house-keeping energy. I might get nasty. Over cleaning. I know, it defies logic.
Top this off with the old wives tale of the "nesting urge"...that impulse that kicks in in the weeks before labor which is said to make even the most sedentary and slothful of women turn into whirling dirvishes of disinfecting ambition. My sincere hope is that this primal urge doesn't kick in until the fishing line is removed from my flimsy cervix, because even with all the swiffers and extended handles and fancy crap you can get now in the cleaning aisle at Target, they still haven't invented the perfect all-purpose cleaning device with a handle that extends the length of my house and can maneuver ten different corners at a time. If only they had, I might be able to clean my kitchen floor while still in the comfort and medical security of my own bed. That is the dream...
It is my fondest hope that my water breaks while I am bent over, on my hands and knees, scrubbing the baseboards of the nursery, preferably two weeks after the cerclage has been thrown into a bright red bio-hazard bag and forgotten.
Do I miss going to movies? yes. Hanging out with my friends more than one at a time and in my bedroom? yes. Do I long to push a cart through the aisles of a grocery store or Target? yes. But, in an admission that will make my mom well-up with pride and makes me cringe with how unromantic it is, what I am missing most right now is the freedom to spring clean at will....