There is a room in our house which, for weeks, was the subject of my husband's ridicule. Actually, if I'm being honest, it was for months, and I was the subject. I hadn't cleaned it for while and there were piles of things waiting to be organized. Now that it's finally clean, I no longer have grounds of being called a hoarder. Except that I still can't seem to get rid of all my portfolios and notebooks and sketches from design college... maybe that's the next step, though.
I forgot how much I liked being in that room. Today I spent a few minutes sitting on the floor, with the warm afternoon sunlight on my face. I thought about how I have less than two weeks left of being 25 (!), and how I feel old and unwise, but genuinely content. Then I couldn't help myself, and I started thinking about how I can't wait to finally turn that room into a nursery. And how wonderful it will feel to sit in there with a baby at my feet instead of just a pile of mail... because that is the next step in our life, and I'm getting a bit impatient.