When the doctor said "37 weeks" at my Wednesday appointment, I kind of panicked. So today I am nesting. And not really because I feel that big energy rush that sometimes hits during this time of pregnancy, more because I don't have a choice. In the book "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" the Herdmans are trying to understand why Mary and Joseph had to put Jesus in an old feedbox. Then, the oldest sister remembers they had to put the youngest sister, Gladys, in a drawer when she was born. My space-efficient apartment is cluttered enough right now to not even allow room in a drawer.
I'm so grateful that kids don't care, however. Mancub said the other day, "Maybe [the Poopy Pirate] and I will have to start sharing a dresser so there is room for the baby's clothes." I just hugged him and gave him a kiss. His clothes are already jammed into a two-drawer end table from my master bedroom set. In five years he has never had a proper dresser. Does he care? Of course not; he just wants to share so that we can make room for the baby brother he is already so excited to have that he laughs and wiggles every time he touches my tummy.
Back to my rearranging . . . .