I know you didn’t expect to come up from the playroom and find me shoulder deep in the fridge with scrubbing materials in both of my hands. It’s not exactly what I expected to be doing, in my pajamas, on a Saturday morning, either. Nor did I expect to scrub the bathroom until it sparkled, vigorously clean every surface in the kitchen and engage in an act of fridge-purging that will probably get me on the Recyclers Hit List for all the glass I simply tossed. And I really want you to know that this frenzy of cleaning is in no way a recrimination of you, your cleanliness, or how you do the dishes and clean up after I cook. Really. I mean it. There is a perfectly logical explanation for all of this and it has nothing to do with you.
The baby made me do it.
I know I didn’t do this when I was pregnant with our son. He was an undemanding baby, even in utero, and asked only that I lie on the couch watching Tori and Dean: Inn Love while eating ice cream. It was a blissful sort of pregnancy and I look back on it happily. However, this new baby has a lot more demands and those demands all seem to have to do with the state of our house.
I’m not sure why the baby decided I needed to redecorate the guest room last weekend, but I think we can all agree that it looks much better in there with new drapes, bedding, artwork, a throw rug and a chair. And even though cleaning the fridge until it was showroom quality was drudgery, don’t you see how nice it is to have all the surfaces in there unblemished by fingerprints and ketchup drips? That was a really good idea of the baby’s, wasn’t it?
And while it is very sweet of you to offer to take on some of the chores the baby insists that I do, the baby and I must decline. You see, you just don’t see what the baby sees and there’s a chance you could leave a light switch smudged. And the baby just can’t have that.
Lest you worry that I’m losing my ability to set boundaries for behavior with this, our second child, rest assured that I’m being firm when I need to. Sure, the baby made me scrub the baseboards in the living room after you left to take our boy to his sports class but that’s where it ends. No more cleaning until the top three layers of skin grow back on my hands. Also, I’m taking back the first two sets of throw pillows I tried out in the living room after the baby decided that room needed a little something new. Wait, I hadn’t told you about the second set of pillows? Oh. Well, never mind then. Just don’t look at our checking account.
Anyway, my love, my sweet, my ever patient and understanding husband, this is not about you. I love living with you and have no complaints about how you do things. You and our son light up my life and I adore both of you. But the light will shine a little brighter after I power wash the windows from the outside. The baby thinks that will really make a difference.
Your Pregnant and Nesting Wife