I like to think of myself as “messy organized.”  I’m not a neat freak by any means (although I do like CLEAN, especially if *I* don’t have to do it), but I do want everything to have a place.  This is NOT the same as having to have everything in its place ALL THE TIME.  I just want to know it has one, ready and waiting, just in case I get the urge (or someone else does *ahem*) to put it up.  So, I was VERY proud of myself when earlier this year I took it upon myself to fold, organize, and pack away in LABELED containers all of the attic’s contents as well as too-small baby clothes and not-this-seasons clothing.

I was very proud.

Until yesterday.

My parents were due to pick L and I up within 45 minutes and I had just discovered that I had no long sleeve shirts to wear to the “Trail of Treats”.  I hurried upstairs, only to find my husband’s military gear strewn haphazardly in front of the attic door.  I heaved it all into a pile, silently cursing him and his 50ton pile of camoflauged crap.  I opened the attic door, ready to find the container and crack it open enough to just to steal a LS maternity shirt and run back to the things I still needed to do (dress, feed L and myself a snack, throw up, not throw up, maybe throw up, dress L, etc.).

0-6 mos baby clothes.  Nope.  Baby gear and blankets.  Nope.  6-12 mos baby clothes.  Nope.  Seasonal clothing.  Nope.  Blankets.  Nope.  Toys.  Nope.

Squinting, I moved farther into the attic, aware that the light from the other room would only reach so far into this space.  Crammed into a corner with not enough room, I bent myself all funny and pulled a tote onto myself just so I could read it.  Nope.  Not it.

I began rearranging tote after tote just so I could get to the one under the one before it until I could barely move due to large plastic (and heavy) totes framing my body in the tight space.  “Seasonal Clothes.”  It was the only tote left and I knew I hadn’t packed the maternity clothes in a box.  I held my breath and cracked it.  I could barely make out the patterns of my winter wear, along with…what’s that?  Maternity clothes.  As I balanced yet another tote with my bum to keep it from smashing down on me, I rifled through the clothes looking for anything LS that would cover my belly.

Who in the hell packs MATERNITY clothes with their seasonal clothes?

Me.  That’s who.

And, who in the dickens places THAT plastic container UNDER the baby ones.  (Would it not make sense that you would need Maternity clothes BEFORE the baby stuff should you get pregnant again?)

Again.  Me.

And, what pregnant chick in her right mind would climb around in the attic and take it upon herself to cart out a 50 lb container of clothes that includes some major lifting and shimmying around corners and other crapthatisnothers blocking the door?

Not me.  That’s who.

That’s right.  I grabbed my shirt and then I dashed out of the attic, slamming the door behind me as the totes that had been held up with my bum began to crash like dominoes.

By the way, honey…there’s a mess in the attic.  And, you totally owe me.

Welcome back!