If you a pregnant, generally lazy by nature, avoid housework at all costs and don’t own a duster, then you might be the type of pregnant woman sat amongst her own sloth thinking “It doesn’t matter, I’ll sort it when I get that nesting thing.”
I wouldn’t count on it.
I have a theory with nesting – there are two types of women: the women who nest and the women who don’t. Women who nest have been doing their whole lives. As little girls they were sorting their bookshelves into alphabetical order while the women who don’t, would attempt to tidy a bookshelf, and spend the time pulling off all the books, flicking through them, finding their favourite pages and re-reading them – probably out loud to an imaginary audience, or worse, they wouldn’t even have attempted it and would be stuck up a tree somewhere trying to impress the lad from down the road.
I am a woman who doesn’t nest. Housework for me, takes the mental journey that others face running a marathon; I need to go into training, find the mental stamina, have deadlines and consequences… and I find the whole thing just as exhausting. Therefore, when I was pregnant with my first child, I was quite looking forward to nesting – “my house will finally be clean” I thought. But ,unfortunately, I didn’t get the desire to clean I just wanted a new house – or a least a newly decorated one. I was miserable, irrational and took a new found dislike to our house, its decor and contents. So much so, that I threatened to cancel my baby shower, unless changes were made. Which, bless The Future Husband, they were.
Consequently, when I was pregnant with my second child I turned to The FH and said “This time can you be in charge of nesting. I’m not very good it.” We ended up getting 10 thousand pounds of building work done, including an unexpected rewire, and living at my parents for 8 weeks with a part-toilet trained toddler and a new born baby!
Correction to the opening paragraph: there are women who nest, women who don’t and Men who… obliterate!