Pregnant and Barefoot in the Kitchen.

This is not good my friends. My husband is going to be bound and determined to keep me knocked up for the next hundred million years. And that is NOT okay. Have I mentioned that I MISS MAH WINE! Not to be confused with my whine, which is in fine and working order. Obviously.

But, you see, the Nesting Period has begun.

In the past 24 hours I have sorted laundry, catalogued and compiled our next Goodwill donation, made the beds, vacuumed the entire top level of our house, put away 5 loads of clean laundry, hung wall decor in 2 bedrooms, showered and dressed myself - TWICE - and mopped the kitchen floor.

For the record? That right there might be the most housework I have done in the past year.

It's not that I am horridly dirty or messy. I generally keep the house neat and clutter-free, and if you visited our little abode you would likely be properly impressed with my classic taste and the carefully chosen items with which we have filled our home. An antique Victrola, a vintage wooden short-wave radio, beautiful wall art (courtesy, in most cases, of my Mother-in-law, who has a god-given talent for playing matchmaker with pictures and mat board and frames) and the results of my new found love of Old Virginia-style textiles.

It's just that - when it comes to the nitty-gritty of things like making beds and wiping down floorboards - I have always been, shall we say, a tad laissez-faire in my attitude. (Floorboards? People wash those? REALLY?? But my sister assures me that they do.)

But, suddenly, it's like someone set a pack of wild, OCD hyenas loose in my brain. They cackle madly as I scrub the last vestiges of toothpaste residue from the kids' sink. They howl with mad desire as I realize the seat-cushions on the dining chairs need a good steam cleaning. The rain yesterday? It kept me from steam-cleaning the carpet in our entryway, which won't dry if the humidity is above negative 4 million percent. I twitched with the intensity of the self-restraint required to keep my hands off my precious SteamVac.

As I warmed our dinner last night, it occurred to me that I was both pregnant and barefoot while in the kitchen. I suspect it occurred to my husband, as well, since he has suddenly decided that he is more in love with me than ever and "Hey! Let's take that government rebate money and get you a shiny new MacBook! You deserve it!"

So, yeah, I'm fairly certain he is formulating a plan to keep me preggers, like, forever. This whole nesting thing? Apparently it's not only a powerful aphrodisiac, it also gets you really awesome presents.