"But I pee 85,000 times a day!"

Okay, so a week ago when I thought about being on Maternity Leave, things looked a lot differently in my head. For instance, I envisioned being the ultimate little housewife in training; making crock pot meals that would be ready on the dinner table when my husband got home from work, having laundry all done, folded and put away, finding organizing projects like the untamed pile of Tupperware under my kitchen sink, cleaning things that often go overlooked like baseboards, and of course, preparing for sweet little baby. However, things haven't been that way at all. Oh, and my bathroom looks like this! RIGHT? WHAT BATHROOM? This photo brings to surface the same facial expression I made when my husband suggested I use a bucket to pee in.

I truly believe there is no ideal time to do a renovation, but especially when you're three weeks away from your due date. Our bathroom has been put off as one of our last projects in our home to undertake. Ever since we first laid eyes on the baby blue tub, sink and toilet in our little war time home, the decision to rip them out was made clear. The bathroom is an incredibly small space as is, but appears to be even smaller because of this oddly placed and oversized diagonal corner countertop. Usually I just stare at it trying to figure out "why" it was initially deemed a good idea.

Though it was difficult not to get too attached to these pieces... (sarcasm, sarcasm, sarcasm), we managed just fine.

Call it nesting or call it my severe OCD, but I insisted that this renovation get done before the baby arrived. My husband likes to remind me time and time (and time) again that it could have waited, as our sweet little baby wouldn't be quick to judge the despicable bathroom ceiling (then again, they ARE my child...), but from my stand point, I see it as such: I will be the one who is home all of the time, with a more than likely crying newborn in my arms, stepping over tools and debris just to make it to the bathroom so that I can pee. We do have another toilet, except it's way in the basement, and everyone knows that's where spiders are, so I tend not to visit that "prisoner bathroom" as I so often refer to it as, in the depths of our unfinished laundry room. I can't even bring myself to walk into this tiny nook and clean it because I treat it as though it's a porta-potty that only men would dare to use.

Though my knowledge of renovations extends only as far as watching Masters of Flip, I'm not naïve enough to actually believe that what an entire team of experts on TV can pull off in the edited and condensed hour long episode of a renovation show is anywhere near comparable to what the average Joe can do in his own home, with or without help, usually having to stop and YouTube instructions every now and then, or encountering a couple of "uh oh" moments. So despite what my husband will tell you, I do not have the same expectations set out for him as I would Mike Holmes. (A girl can dream though).

Yes, my impatience poses many-a-problems, but that is where my hesitance stemmed from all along. As much as I knew this reno would have to be done, and as adamant as I was about it happening prior to little R's debut, I knew it would at the very least butcher a whole week of my vacation and leave me feeling as displaced as I do right now.

So no, there have been no crock pot meals cooking, no supper ready on the dinner table, no laundry neatly done and put away, zero organizational tasks accomplished, there's more dust than ever before situated all over my home, and prepping for baby is basically me reading my pregnancy app updates day-to-day. That's as good as it's going to get for now.

Luckily whenever I run into these situations where I either don't have running water because my kitchen is being done (circa April 2017), or I don't have a bathroom to use even though I have a baby squeezing my bladder from morning to night making my pee count somewhere around 85,000 times a day (life as I currently know it), I am always able to retreat to my Ma's place where I more or less invade her space, eat her food, take up half of her bed, and complain that I have so much I could be doing at home as if saying it out loud will magically change the situation. It's how it goes being someone like myself who for months had lists of things to do before the baby came, had the hospital bags packed, had baby's laundry done, and so forth. So I don't deal well with sitting around imagining how my kitchen floors must look, or how neglected the laundry is, or how much cleaning will have to be done when this bathroom is near finished. Because let me tell you, others may have helped with that part, but I can assure you NO ONE will help me clean the aftermath (and that's okay because they don't know how to do it as well as I do. Just call me Monica Gellar).

More than anything else I am just looking forward to sitting in my organized and clean home, getting to actually relax and wait for this baby who I've been dreaming about for months now. I want to sit on the couch with my husband and feel like the little family we are becoming, without interruptions or visits, or having to entertain anyone. I want to have my hospital bags by the door, the prepped meals ready to be eaten in the fridge, and a loose routine of sorts until I have to figure out an entire new one to compliment both baby and I.

I think stressing about anything really at this point is hormonal and has much to do with the nervousness us women on the brink of becoming mothers feel. I have lost my temper with my husband one too many times this past week, and of course I feel bad for it. However, I've TRIED to ease up, especially when I pass by our house in the evenings and see him working away by himself, covered from head to toe in tile dust, which turns his dark hair and beard a powdered white colour, aging him years beyond his time. I see a hardworking husband and father, who although thinks I'm psychotic, continues to power through his workload because he knows I am insane and probably would find a way to get a hold of Mike Holmes if he didn't. It's all about give and take: I give him a hard time, and he takes my hormonal rage and gets work done. Then I give him supper and my thanks, and he takes that and continues working away. We're a solid team, I swear.

At the end of the day we both know that in a couple of weeks from now neither of us will even think about this current week of mayhem because our lives will be so drastically different. How and why the hell would we harp on this bathroom topic for a second longer when we're both gazing into the little eyes of this person we created together? (See, because we're a solid team). Things may get messy along the way for us and we bicker and argue, not fully seeing eye-to-eye, but in the end all we're left with is this beautiful finished product that took the both of us to complete. So whether it's the bathroom or our baby, life goes back to normal eventually. No, forget that; life becomes even better than it was.

Far, far better.