Thoughts of the Contemplative Variety

I’ve been in a funny mood lately.  I’ve been doing a lot of rearranging of furniture.  TG calls it nesting.  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s nesting.  But I’m suddenly very bothered by it.

Typically, I rearrange furniture when I’m cleaning.  This happens for two reasons: first because I know everything under everything is getting cleaned 100% for sure, and second because things look nice and different when you rearrange stuff.  This is not the part I’m bothered by.

I feel like I’m living like a college student with my Target furniture and constant clutter.  And I’m working on both of those things.  I visit other people’s homes and watch in awe as they live their very adult, grown up lives, and I wonder what I’m doing with my own.  And at this very moment, all that starts at home.

Maybe cleaning the house will clear my head.

Mister and I have been idly trying for over a year to conceive.  It’s been a fun but difficult process.  I have a few health hurdles to overcome, and I can only hope that I am well on my way to getting to where I need to be.  But Mister and I have started talking about it again, but this time in a very serious way.  As in, I’m getting my health insurance card and calling a doctor to see what else we need to be doing in order to move this process along.  I want to have a child more than anything.  But I feel that can’t happen, or we can’t exist if our home is not clean, and we are not adults.  Fully matured, grown up adults.

And that?  That right there?  That begins at home.

So while Mister is working, I shall be cleaning, and making a dent in our home in hopes that it will sufficiently satisfy my current need for a life with far less clutter.