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Iíve always been a nester. When I was in college, Iíd have my posters up before my neighbors even had a chance to unpack their sheets. When Nate and I moved into our apartment, I had the 36 cubbies in our living room built-ins filled by night fall. I like my home to feel like home. And I like it to feel that way instantly.

So the fact that the nursery still looks like a plain ol spare room, drives me a wee bit batty. I know we have time. And I have been trying to keep the crazy under controlóI have. But sometimes I donít do so well. And Nate winds up suffering for it.

I keep asking him to dismember his full armoire to make room for the crib. The crib that we donít actually have yet. The crib that wonít be occupied till January. I disrupt his TV watching with the sounds of furniture being dragged across wood floors above. He, of course, comes up and takes over the rearranging.

The crazy doesnít stop at the nursery. I want pictures hung in the living room. I want the bench thing in our bedroom painted. I want the pot rack hung. I want to buy a fire extinguisher and a microwave. I want the house to be done!

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