Being intense about nesting.

This photo has nothing to do with this post, except to remind me of blue and orange, a lovely daughter, a wonderful day. It's here on this page to be something lovely, nothing practical at all.

I feel as though I have to have every single thing perfect before the baby comes. Do they call this nesting? And here's a confession: It's not easy to get every single thing perfect in a new country, where I am speaking a new language that makes me feel like I'm a very small child with moths in my ears. Also, when I have practical things to do, I sometimes have to get on the bus and take the three hour ride through the curves to the big town, and then I have to rent a motorbike and go from appointment to appointment, from shop to shop, until I am sitting on the side of the road, calling my husband, asking him to give me a pep talk because I can't walk another step.

Would my husband be willing to do these things?

Yes.

Would I be willing to let him?

Probably not.

But perhaps I have it in my head that I will not be able to do anything else at all after the baby is born, because the enormity of an infant has expanded in my imagination in the four and a half years since I last had one.

I must protect that week of babymoon time. My mental health depends on it.

Still, maybe we don't need a washing machine right away, and I don't have to try to fit it in the budget, or figure out how to get it home. And maybe I can continue without an oven, as much as I would like to make granola bars for all those breakfasts coming up. And we need a storage solution for YaYa's constantly overflowing art table, but perhaps stacking things in a somewhat orderly way can continue to work for a while.

I need to let things go, I find, after a trip to the consulate and the doctor and the markets and a curvy bus ride back, on a day when I'm headachy and finally, finally, crashed into bed with my Superstar Husband doing everything for everyone, just like I don't want him to.

In truth, I'm well set up in a cozy home with kids who can get breakfast for themselves. There are shops nearby and fruit just down the street. The baby will come (a baby! a baby!) and will happy with being kissed. He won't care at all if half the curtains are white and the other half are still a sickly orange.

Babies don't need perfection. They only need love. Just like the rest of us.