An open letter to my “Nesting Instinct”

Dear “Nesting Instinct”,

I am writing this to you via Internet not only because you are an abstract idea incapable of receiving letters, but more importantly because I have no idea where the hell you are.

I did a Google image search for "Nesting Instinct" and this was the first image that came up. This is what I imagined my life to be right now - completely zen and happy with scrubbing my kitchen cabinet doors. NO DICE, MAN. No dice.

I did a Google image search for “Nesting Instinct” and this was the first image that came up. This is what I imagined my life to be right now – completely zen and happy with scrubbing my kitchen cabinet doors. NO DICE, MAN. No dice.

Among the many side effects of pregnancy such as morning sickness, extreme fatigue, leg cramps, and a spare baby growing in my ass (apparently), the one I was actually looking forward to was this magical “nesting instinct” that pops in around 8th month of pregnancy, supposedly. People rave on and on about how they “feel like a lunatic” because all they want to do is organize and clean and do various other things that I imagine good soon-to-be mothers do, instead of eating cookie dough ice cream and watching Grey’s Anatomy from the start because in some weird twist of female-ness I had never seen it before. While sometimes I feel like the nesting instinct is the classic humble brag similar to answering an interview question of “what’s you’re greatest flaw?” with something along the lines of “oh, I’m too much of a team player!” or “I love my job too much“, I still feel that you, Nesting Instinct, are something I’m missing out on and could really capitalize upon.

I’m not saying that things are slovenly. The nursery is almost completely finished (with the exception of the curtains because my husband and I are hopeless renters who don’t own a ladder stopjudgingmealready). I hired a cleaning service to come in and do a “deep clean” of the apartment because, again Nesting Instinct, you are nowhere to be found. And while not actually doing the cleaning work myself was fantastic, it’s not something I could exactly make a habit, either.

So while you are apparently lounging on a beach drinking mojitos in the Caribbean (not that I would blame you), I am desperately wondering if I’ll ever understand how to wash a blanket inside-out like the instructions on the tag tell me to. (Is this something that becomes clear once your nesting instinct comes in? I literally stared at the blanket for 5 minutes pondering if there actually was a way to wash a one-dimensional object inside out.) Or hang the pictures on my walls that I’ve been meaning to hang for over a year. Or do any of the stuff I was waiting for you to appear and make me want/understand how to do. There is a limited amount of cookie dough ice cream and Grey’s Anatomy in the world, Nesting Instinct, and I’m reaching the upper limits of human consumption for both. Help me out here, okay? 

Yours truly,

Motherhood What

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