I’ve come to the conclusion that nesting has nothing to do with the hormonal woes of pregnancy. Unless I’m pregnant. But I’m not – not as far as I know.
But seriously, every time we get a phone call telling us that we have new children coming to stay, you should see me in all my Martha Stewart glory! We’re talking scrubbing down the floors and walls on my hands and knees, organizing closets, changing sheets that haven’t been slept in, and running my poor husband ragged with rearranging every room in our home. Unless my hormones are seriously in tune with the caller id saying “Intake Department” that can’t be it. It feels a bit more like adrenaline that propels these aggressive cleaning binges. Some people go to the gym, but that just doesn’t seem nearly as productive- in the short term anyway.
We have two little ones coming tonight – just for the weekend. And you better believe that I’m about to go cleaning crazy on this mess of a house. Which doesn’t make a ton of sense, since adding a three and a four year old to this mix will ensure that the house will look like a tornado hit it by Sunday. But oh well. I must satisfy the urge.
My friend Katherine prescribed that it has to do with control. Which is probably spot on. When we get called with a placement, there’s not much that I do have control over except for the dust bunnies in the corner – so that’s where I start. It’s therapeutic. And while I have to trust God with everything else, I think that nesting is the outlet he gives me to exercise my apprehensions right out.
So, nest I will.
I’m going to go clean out the microwave.