It’s the heat of the summer. We wake up sweaty and go to bed sweaty. Our otter pop supply has dwindled to dangerously low levels. The humidity is oppressive. By all accounts I should be sitting on the couch in my underwear, sucking down otter pops as fast as we can freeze them, with all the fans we own blowing on me from various angles.
And yet somehow I can’t seem to stop moving. I’ve been mulling over all the things that have to happen before the baby is born for months and on Monday I made a list. It keeps getting longer. I can’t stop working on it. We’ve finished painting projects we started months ago. We’ve started painting projects that only crossed our minds last week. I’ve been more productive and efficient than I’ve been since . . . I don’t know when. This is probably how I should have been spending all of my time since I finished school. Our apartment would be perfect. Clean all the time. Amazingly organized.
I suppose I should live it up while it lasts. Because I can’t imagine having this kind of energy once the baby is born. Or maybe this is exactly what I need to prove to myself that I can actually do household projects without Micah looking over my shoulder to reassure me that I’m not ruining everything.
Or maybe I’m finally learning how to be a homemaker.
Nah. Probably not. That would be too weird.
Either way, time is ticking. Only two months before our lives change completely, forever, again. And I’ll be darned if this place isn’t my dream home by then.