Yesterday was my daughter's 19th birthday, and also marked the end of her 33rd week of pregnancy. I can hardly believe there are only seven more weeks until her due date. Of course, to her, time seems to be standing still. (Note the intensely forced smile that was preceded by, "Mom, stop taking pictures of me. I feel enormous!")
She's nesting, which is hard to do when you don't have a home of your own. Much of my own to-do list involves helping her create a nest within a nest, in our partially-finished basement. I've been pecking away at the piles of stuff that have accumulated down there, hoping to find a sense of order for myself as well as provide more space for her and the baby. It's a bit overwhelming.
My oldest has once again moved out to live with friends. This time, he says its for good, though I sent him off as before, with the assurance that he's welcome to move back anytime if need be. (Where I'd put him, I don't know, as his sister has already laid claim to the second basement bedroom for the nursery. Needless to say, though, we'd find the space.)
So the basement is my immediate concern, more sorting, decluttering, shuffling things from one place to another in hopes that it will all eventually make sense. I'm sure it will, in time. I have faith that all will fall into place as if it were meant to be, much like random flowers picked from the garden can blend perfectly into a birthday bouquet.
There's more to that list, too; getting ready for back-to-school for the younger two, shopping for supplies, cleaning rooms, sorting through clothes, dentist appointments, more obligations, more want-to's and need-to's...
...but right now, there's serious nesting to be done.