Ugh

Yesterday John and I got the bright idea to (finally!) organize and clean our bedroom. Up til now, our bedroom has been the dumping ground for, well, everything. So we unpacked boxes, threw away 5 bags of trash, folded and put away 10 loads of laundry (I'm sorry Mom, but I hate doing laundry!). Libby helped for a bit, then took a really long nap. We ate lunch, then dinner, and got right back to work each time. 10 hours later, with Libby sound asleep and John and I wanting to die, We vacuumed the floor and all was done. Beautiful. We even organized the book shelves. And put the bassinet together and stuck it in the corner. Because we have a baby due in 4 months and want to make sure it has a place to sleep, by golly! Actually, it's because we have nowhere to store it. Today, John can't bend his back and I can't turn my head or lift my arms above my shoulders. What sad, old people we are.

We even tackled the issue of moving Libby out of her crib. When should we do it? Should we wait until the baby is born? Or do it sooner, so she doesn't feel "kicked out"? Should we get a toddler bed, or move her to the double bed? Where will Mom sleep when she comes to help after the baby is born? AAAAAaaaaaaa! Ultimately, we decided that since our mattress is shot and is killing us slowly with it's lumps and sags, we are going to ditch it and downsize to the super-comfy, rarely slept-in double bed currently taking up the majority of Libby's room. It will be snug sleeping, but much better for our backs (unless I start punching John in my sleep again like I did a week after the wedding, but I was dreaming that my friend was choking, so I had good reason). Closer to Libby's birthday in June we will convert her crib to the toddler bed. New baby will sleep in our room in the bassinet for a few months, then will move into Libby's room and sleep in the Pack n' Play. Eventually, we will get a twin bed for Libby and the baby will move into the crib. Then we can start worrying about it all over again when #3 comes along and we have to move. But I try not to think about that because it makes me hyperventilate.

So today, John and I are bemoaning our soreness (does that even make sense? I don't think I used bemoaning right). John's job was to scrub the bathroom I cleaned and straightened last night. My job was to sort and fold and pack the loads and loads of clothes and coats we want to donate. I got on the computer this morning to try to find a place to donate that would use the clothes for good purpose. Goodwill just doesn't cut it for me. I found a homeless shelter in McKinney that runs a thrift store. What the homeless don't need, they sell. I liked that our clothes would be given free of charge to people who desperately needed them. I found out they take donations until 2 on Saturdays and told John that if he would haul them up there today, then take the tree and empty boxes to the dump, that I would scrub the bathroom. If you know me, you know bathroom cleaning ranks just below lawn-mowing - just ask Marie, who scrubbed my bathtub when she was 7 months pregnant. I still feel bad about that. Anyway, that's how desperate I am to get ALL THIS JUNK out of my house.

So John is on his way to the shelter, and I am going to do a quick pick-up of the living room so that while he is taking the tree to the dump I can vacuum all the needles off the floor before Hobbit eats them. After Libby's nap, we will do the swapping of the beds, and maybe John can even get our friend Rob to come out here with his truck and haul our mattress to the dump. Ambitious? Maybe. OCD? Most definitely.