The Art of Nesting

Yesterday, I had a moment. I got this sudden urge inside of me to start getting ready for baby. No more putting it off. Now is the time to prepare! I think the Goodwill postcard set me off: "We're going to be in your neighborhood this week picking up household items and clothes." That's the calling I've been looking for. About dang time!

The baby's room was (until yesterday) the dog's room slash guest room. It had a huge dog crate (that now the dog is growing out of), a dog bed, a human twin bed, a radio and a bedside table in this room. It also was my junk/crafts/misc. room, where we would store items that didn't really have anywhere else to go. Christmas wrapping paper, bags, gifts, scrapbooks, notebooks, etc.

Petey & I rearranged the office and moved the dog crate in there. Then I started to clean out the dog/guest room. What on earth possessed me to keep half the stuff I did is mind-boggling. I didn't even look at the stuff I was putting in the trash bag to give away, I just started piling it in there. Like a mad woman. On a mission.

Once I finished the junk room I moved on to my closet. One whole trash bag just for my closet. Sad, isn't it? I couldn't stop, anything, everything, things I haven't touched in six months were out, thrown on the floor and then into the trash bag.

I started to move my way in the office, slithering in like a snake. Petey was in there rearranging items and trying to organize as well. I started to take things off the shelves and look at them, giving them the 2 second "keep or trash" glance before I would take them. I think Petey saw the look in my eye and asked me to leave. He would work on his room by himself, he tells me. I gave him the glance too. Needless to say, I decided to keep him.

What's sad is there is probably $2000 worth of stuff (aka crap) in these trash bags that has hardly been used. Clothes (some with dry cleaning tags on them!), shoes, a Kate Spade purse and makeup bag, Brighton wallet, household goods, games, candlesticks, frames, lamps, posters, tote bags, paintings, etc.

But I don't care. I just want it out of my house. Out out out out out out out. No more!

I'm not done yet. We still have to disassemble the bed and move it out. No, it's not going in the trash, it's going to a storage unit until we have room for it. Okay, so a storage unit = parents house but who's really paying attention here?

Let me live crap free until my first baby shower on Thanksgiving. Give me 2 weeks and I'll give you 25 years of my life. Deal?