Disarray

In the last month of pregnancy it is normal to nest. I haven't done too much nesting. Instead, I seem to be consistent in cluttering up places I should be cleaning up. My kitchen is in disarray daily, even though I attempt cleaning up after my family at least five times during my waking hours (which really aren't that many . . . part of the problem in itself). The floor next to my bed is littered with socks and books I have finished reading but haven't put away faithfully. The laundry room is a disaster, and I don't even let that bother me because laundry is such a disgusting task in the first place it doesn't really deserve strict organization.

Perhaps the worst place is my desk, where I spend a considerable amount of time. My desk, despite its wealth of drawers and cubby holes, is strewn with debris. There are old letters from important people in my life on one side, an overflowing basket of retail receipts, mail that needs to go to the post office and Sesame Street DVD cases lying all about. A tube of blistex stands proudly next to a nail clipper on its side. A sales flyer from a craft store peeks out from underneath my address book. Sticky notes abound on all surfaces. Usually there are several glasses with dried, rancid milk in the bottom, but I did manage to get those to the dishwasher today. On the right side there is a huge pile of miscellaneous things that I would like to pretend doesn't exist, but I am convinced it reproduces in the fashion of spontaneous generation.

Every day I decide to clean my desk, but I only get half finished before I am distracted. I am thankful, extremely grateful, that I have a rolltop computer desk. Whenever I detect someone at the door, I run to the desk and close the cover. Everything is hidden and I can appear to be a genuine, clean, good stay at home mom who has nested sufficiently.