Nursery Prep

When The Poo was born we lived in a loft apartment in the middle of our city’s downtown area. It was great for young newlyweds, but not so much for young parents.

It was the middle of the year, however, and moving was out of the question. Plus, my dad had just died, and I wasn’t really in the mood to move house.

And it was December.

So we brought The Poo home to a nursery that was as warm as we could make it, what with 15-foot ceilings and exposed pipes. At least it was a sunny celery green, nice and bright and cheerful. We filled the room with white furniture and pink-and-yellow bedding and it was there that we became a family.

For that reason I will always hold the East End Lofts dear in my heart.

This time I am a homeowner – my second home, in fact. While the suburban tract house we live in at the moment is, at best, uninspired, we’ve endeavored to make it our own.

We painted the family room/kitchen combo a sunny yellow. The Poo’s room is cotton-candy pink and her bathroom is a cool, ocean blue, decorated with colorful prints of the beach and a photograph of rubber ducks taken by her maternal grandmother, a talented photographer.

The rest of the house is painted in what I call Millenium Neutral – a light brownish beige that is actually quite pleasant. It is similar to what we had in our first home and so our furniture fits the decor perfectly.

We are lucky to have four bedrooms, and we spent this afternoon emptying the den in preparation for painting.

The den will soon be Shaggy’s room, the nursery.

For the first time, I am able to decorate my child’s room as I wish. And I am ridiculously excited.

I spent a fortune on quarts of paint in all different shade of green, before deciding on Benjamin Moore’s Pottery Barn color, perennial.

I ordered mod bedding from Skip*Hop.

I eye storage options at Target with the intensity of a organization professional.

I websurf for wall decals.

My mom bought us a beautiful, soft brown glider and ottoman, and when I close my eyes I see myself holding my wee boy as we rock and rock, The Poo playing contentedly at my feet in a pool of late-morning sunshine.

I know the reality will be far messier. Hair in my face, I’ll run for the shower during the brief five minutes the kid isn’t crying for food or a diaper change. I’ll snap impatiently at The Poo when she whines and tells me she needs me to help her go potty because she doesn’t “like to pull up” her own pants. I know the pristine room of my imagination will be littered with dried-out wipes and dirty onesies.

Still.

In my mind, I am creating this peaceful space for the newest member of our family.

I’m having the time of my life, in spite of it all.

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So what do you think of our choices?