Last summer, mere months after swearing that I wasnt going to have a second baby , I found out I was having a second baby. Oh, universe.

Of all the varied emotions (most of them happy, for the record) I felt over lil surprise, as weve come to call him, one of the most prevalent was panic over how to fit him in our two-bedroom , already overflowing, toddler-dominated townhouse. Like, actually, where is this baby going to go? A drawer? It might be a drawer.

This panic quickly morphed to full-fledged anxiety over the clutter I find myself surrounded by on a daily basis. Toys everywhere. An entirely unusable basement thanks to boxes we never unpacked from our last move. A shame-closet so stuffed with junk we cant even open the door.