The twins are now nearly ten months and the nesting instinct has suddenly kicked in in a BIG way.
I did worry about getting the house ready for the babies, but when I really wanted to nest, I’d got so big and uncomfortable I couldn’t do much. Five minutes of cleaning left me struggling for breath with my whole body starting to ache. I had a few unwise sessions up a step ladder painting our spare bedroom, but quickly realised it wasn’t a great idea.
When we moved into our house two and half years ago, it had been rented out for nearly thirty years and was in a sorry state. By the time Miss E and Mr A arrived we’d done the big stuff. Bathroom, tick. Kitchen, tick. Nursery, tick. But there was still plenty to be done. We innocently thought that Young Daddy could do some of the jobs on his extended paternity leave (he had nine weeks off work). I laugh at our naivety now.
We’ve managed bits and bobs over the last ten months, but have been somewhat distracted. When Young Daddy is around I don’t want him to be absorbed in some DIY project, I want him to get stuck in with the babies, so the renovations have gone on the back-burner.
But recently the shock of having two new babies is wearing off and the fog is lifting. I’m turning my interiors-trained eye to my home and all those unfinished jobs are suddenly screaming out to be done. We finally got carpet laid on the hall, stairs and landing this week after two years of bare, untreated, nail-ridden floorboards. We’re turning this house into a home.
Only now my motives are all different. Now every decision I make is about making a home for my family, not for myself. I’m picturing Miss E and Mr A as they grow up, and how they’ll use the space. Coming home from school and dumping all their stuff in the hallway. I’m painting the banisters imagining them peering through them on Christmas Eve, looking down at the fairy lights below. I picture games of hide and seek. Putting on plays.
And I can’t wait to create a place for them to grow.