Wednesday 30 June 2010


I’ve turned into a nesting maniac. I’m not sure what has happened to me as I am a shadow of my former self (which is ironic as I’m twice the size). I of course shall blame hormones - in fact I will be using hormones as my go to excuse until post menopause, cause it just seems so applicable. The funny thing is, I was never this girl. I was the gypsy girl that could move in a weekend carrying everything herself. I prided myself on my pseudo Buddhist approach to life – if it can’t be shoved in a few bags or boxes I don’t want it. Ahhh, the simpler times.

Then as it happens, I started to reach that point in life where I pined for a home - I arrived at this late, kicking and screaming of course. I suppose it’s the female call of the wild, 'I want NNNNNEEESSSST damn it!!' And slowly but surely I started to climb up the ranks of acquiring such a thing. First it was the furnished flat; I’d add a photo frame here or a vase there to leave my mark and thought okay, this isn't so bad; then it was the partially furnished flat, which made me feel really adult. Whoooooa I just purchased a coffee table! Brace yourself gypsy. This would cause some angst I have to admit as it meant permanence, and to me this was a big step (I of course rationalized that I could still strap a coffee table to my back if need be).

Then of course it soon graduated - and alarmingly quickly -  to “this flat is too small, how on earth can I nest here? I’m a bird with a vivacious energy, I have wings damn it, and I need to spread them at least over two bedrooms!” My partner struggled to keep up with all this I assure you.  I’m sure there were days where he thought to himself, god I miss my girlfriend who could rent a room just about anywhere and make it home. Now she wants space, and coffee mugs in assorted colors!

So now I’ve progressed to the unfurnished flat - the peak of nesting when it comes to city living - and over the past year, I’ve been on a quest to make it as homey as possible (and clean. Of course clean). I obsess, peruse magazines & websites like a junky on the hunt until I find the perfect chair, frame, rug, you name it. Now, I’m not a lavish girl, so things never get out of hand, but I can get pretty anal when it comes to having things just so. I always know when I have gotten a bit out of control when my partner – a definite man of opinions –  is even tired by my pointless litany of questions of which cushion color do you like better? In fact, in moments like these, I have to keep myself from hurling myself over the balcony. My favorite nesting game, add things all over the house without asking, and then wait. It usually takes him about a week or so to notice. Then he'll just stare at it and suddenly say, 'wait a minute, what the hell is that?'

Of late I will admit that I have gone into irrational nesting territory. I am down to obsessing over the minutiae of things. Is this coaster the right coaster? Can one paint a doorknob? Is there enough to look at in the toilet (it’s very important). Do the walls look too white? Will that hurt my baby’s eyes? Will he be stimulated enough? Maybe I should paint one black and red, they say they dig that sort of thing. And is the flat too sterile? I mean, I like clean lines, but I don’t want my kid thinking I’m stiff and lacking personality. I ooze personality damn it! Maybe I should turn the whole flat into a Moroccan bazaar. That would sure spark a reaction from my partner. ‘Hey baby, how was your day, grab the hookah and get on in here!..Oh the camel, that’s functional furniture, he also doubles as a chaise longue.’ 

I keep telling myself I will soon reach the end of this stage, I’m thinking labor should do it. Then I’ll be so tired post birth, I won’t even be able to find the nest I’ve been working so hard to decorate. “Nest, what nest? Just point me towards the bed and hand me one of those cushions!!”

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