Nesting?

I swear one would think that I'm nesting. I promise I'm not pregnant. I think. No, really I'm not. I've been cleaning and picking up stuff like I'm nesting... or it's a new hobby. I see a mess, WHAM! It's gone. I finally tired myself of looking at a cluttered pantry. Straightened that up. Many times before bed, I get Ivy in on the act. She's more cooperative of it. Her room is still messy. But at least I can walk into the living room without stepping on the equivalent of a six-inch spike of a high heel that fits one of her many nude Barbie dolls. As I'm cooking, I'm cleaning. Most mornings, the bed gets made. Is the dishwasher full? Get it going! Is the laundry basket full? Start a load. And so forth.

Ryan has begged me to stop cleaning so much. I feel the need to analyze why I'm cleaning. Is it medication? I'm more focused? I have more energy? I get things done? I'm bored? I'm frustrated? I hate the way things look when it's cluttered? I'm ashamed? I see something that needs to be done and instead of procrastinating I just do it? It makes my mind less cluttered if my environment is less cluttered? I feel more comfortable when things a clean?I want Ivy to grow up knowing how to do these things so that she is capable later in life? These all seem pretty valid to me. I'm fairly certain this list could go on. But I'm tired. Maybe it's all the cleaning I do. Or maybe it's allergy bull-malarky.