Talk about feeling guilty

At the moment, I am listening to the glug and slush of the washing machine as it spins dirty sheets and towels to cleanness, and the thump and bump of my husband working on our bathroom. Yes sirree, Nick is burning the calories today not by playing golf or going to the gym, but preparing the tiles in our bathtub for regrouting.

With Miss Elizabeth on the way, we need a bigger place. The condo is really an excellent amount of room for two people with no baby (though most of our belongings are in storage at respective parents' homes), but the idea of trying to make room for baby here is a little daunting. Where would her crib go amongst the desks in the office? What about the bouncer seat, the swing, the high chair.... I can't even think of putting up a Pack-and-Play in the living room! So, it's to a little home renovation we go to spruce up our place and get it ready to put on the market.

Only.... I can't do much to help. I bought the paint to repaint the condo before we knew baby was in the wings, and it's not pregnancy-friendly paint. No low VOCs here, as when I bought it, I thought, "Why pay for it when it's not that necessary?" Wrong. And some of the things he's doing in the bathroom had proved to be along similar lines. So he's gassing himself out in there so that the rest of the condo is hospitable to me (though he will be kicking me out when he goes to paint the bathroom).

I feel bad that I'm not helping much. I try to do my part by cleaning the house and packing up, though I'm eternally slow at these not-so-favorite things. But I am more than grateful for my husband who does this these things willingly for his growing family, that he does not complain that I'm about as useful as a sack of potatoes on this score, and I try to let him know it. I so appreciate him willing to work and do these things so we can sell the condo and buy a house and I can decorate a room and nest and prepare for our little girl. He's a good daddy already.