My sweaters. My neatly folded, color-coded, hand-washed, sun-dried wool sweaters. Now they lie packed in an anally prepared "under bed bag" with a cedar insert. I've offically lost my mind for all things that can be ORGANIZED. If you could bottle the hormone that makes pregnant ladies feel this incredible urge to "NEST" (ugh. I said it. "Nesting" is one of those maternity terms that I can't stand.) then I think you could prescribe it to all the college students that can't figure out how to finish a project or clean their dorm rooms. What I wouldn't have done to feel this motivated when I was 19!
The nesting instinct aside, I thought it was pretty hysterical to see the cohesive tonality in my sweater collection. Although I have about 25 more to wash, I can assure you they look almost exactly the same in color selection. Discovering that I really do have a stylistic preference when it comes to color shouldn't be a surprise to me, but seeing it all laid out nice and neat gives it more impact.
Which reminds me, I only have about 3 tank tops and 2 skirts that I can fit my large self into - and it's getting disgusting. Hopefully I won't add too many more grease stains to those cherished items in the next 4 weeks and passers by won't have to wonder about that poor poor overly pregnant and slobby lady with twins.
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