This morning was supposed to be a marathon of shoppage. I had my list, I had my route—and then on the way to drop Carl off at work we fishtailed it up 5 Mile, went 30 in a 50 mile zone, and blew through a pink light because stopping was not an option.
Why hello, winter.
I have since decided to put the plans rather than the car, as they say, on ice. Woman-child and I are now having a nice cup of tea and trying to decide how best to use the first part of our day. Weather reports say the snow should stop by 1pm, so I think shopping may safely recommence by 2. That gives us a couple of hours to work with.
There are a lot of things I could be doing with a few extra hours, but I’m probably going to spend them in the nursery. I am at this point fully in the clutches of a pretty major nesting instinct that seems to dictate large chunks of my day. Last week Carl was still taking the baby wipes out of my grocery cart to put them back on the shelf. This week he just says all soothingly, “you do what you need to do.”
I’m not sure why the room itself seems so important. She’ll probably spend the first few months in a basinet in our room while the nursery collects dust. But I have the time and motivation now, and I’m betting it will be a whole lot easier to do this now than when she’s two months old. Anyway it’s fun.
Here’s the before shot from when we bought the place:
Yes. The ceiling is also painted the same ganky brown. Solid choice, right? There was also a faded SpongeBob light switch, and while the floors look nice in this picture, they were pretty gnarly up close. Lots of goo and ick.
We started with a nice wash of primer over the whole room; painted the ceiling white; painted the walls two shades of light green; put up chair molding, filled the nail holes with wood glue, sanded off the excess; painted the trim a snowy white; took the closet doors off (wood that didn’t match the floor) and have gotten as far as to get the primer on them to prepare for future whiteness; replaced the electrical plates.
It’s coming along.
Tomorrow we pick up the crib (simple, white). Next week our green, old-fashioned braided rug should arrive. We’re still looking for an inexpensive but comfortable chair. We’ve found the pink bedding we want, but haven’t gotten around to buying it yet. And then, of course, there are in the inevitable setbacks:
Where you go to pull the tape off around your perfect trim and a whole sheet of the wall paint comes off with it. GAH! I’m going to pretend it was not laziness but good thinking that kept me from putting away the primer and paints yet.
Anywho, that’s where we are now.
One day I may also regale you with tales of the woeful extremities of the protective instinct that I’ve also got raging, but I think that would probably qualify as too soon. Nobody could be more relaxed when it comes to hypothetical tree climbing and chocolate at six months, but when it comes to human dysfunction, I’m pretty much on track to be a Rapunzel witch. The turret solution sounds fabulous to me… So far 25% of the time I’m right and 75% of the time Carl successfully talks me down.
I have married myself a good man.
But it’s starting to occur to me how truly marriage pre- and post-parenthood is kind of like those old video games where you beat the game and then it instantly restarts with twice as many bad guys and the music going much faster.
Take that, marital discord. Your purple hair is no match for our jump kick.