Living like it's my last day...

OK, so this sounds significantly more morbid then it is intended to sound.  Let me explain...

Last weekend my sister-in-law, Cathy, came up from the city to help me get the house "baby ready."  Some of the projects we tackled revolved around sorting the "keep" from the "toss" but mostly there was a lot of very overdue cleaning to do.  Anyone who knows me and has been to my house or seen my office space at work knows that I like order.  I like things to have a place, love to organize, and HATE trinkets & clutter.  To say that it was humiliating to bring in outside help with my house in this sub-par state is an understatement. 

Bobby is a fantastic support and as my flexibility and endurance have decreased, he has stepped in to take over many of the daily household needs.  But he is still a guy (no offense, I love you babe).  He thinks like a guy, prioritizes like a guy and cleans like a guy.  

Cathy came in like a cyclone and with the help of Bobby's aunt Jody (who came by to take some measurements for the art work she will be creating for the nursery) I watched as piles of chaos and dust bunnies disappeared before my very eyes.  As I watched them work, a terrifying thought suddenly went through my head.  What if I had never gotten the opportunity to do any of this?  What if I had been put on bed rest at 20 weeks?  Or worse...hospital bed rest!  What in the world would we have done?  How would we have gotten ready in time?!  How did I let it get this bad?!

So this leads me back to the title...living like it's my last day.  I realize now that at 22 weeks every day is a blessing.  Every day that my little ones stay inside of me is a blessing.  Every day that I am able to move freely about my house is a blessing.  I need to embrace the importance of both and make it my priority to take advantage of both each and every day.