I have high hopes that this child will make her arrival soon. We're eleven days from the due date and my mom is praying she'll come quickly. And then last night I organized my socks by color in neat rows five across and counted them. I do that every now and again, organize them I mean, so I wasn't worried until I started counting. That's a sure sign something isn't normal. (There were thirty-three pairs clean; and I think that's most of what I have, because it's still sandal weather and I've been doing a lot of laundry.) So possibly I'm nesting. A friend today told me that a vast burst of nesting might mean you'll go into labor within 24 hours, and we're at 23 and counting. Come on, baby!
Meg likes socks, too. Her new thing is to usurp her parents' socks for her own purposes. Wednesday she very matter-of-factly put on my red ladybug socks under her boots and I didn't discover it until she was fully dressed, at which point I didn't care. I mean, she put on socks and shoes all by herself and looked fine. Jonathan, however, will not let her wear his socks on top of her shoes; that's going too far. She hasn't tried messing with the baby's socks, which is just as well, because I'm a little crabby and might breathe fire if she disarranged the baby's sock drawer... which is not organized by color. Anyway, it's basically all pink. And most of it still needs to be washed. If my subconscious insists on nesting it really needs to start working on more useful things, because there's plenty left to do.
Also, I've decided I need another couple pairs of boot socks for fall. There is nothing unusual about this either - days get shorter, orange clothes come out, I want another plaid shirt, and I want more boot socks. Argyle would be darling. Sadly, though, most of the inexpensive socks are all polyester, and my feet are getting too old for man-made materials. I may have to actually buy quality socks one of these days.