The Nursery

nursery

Yesterday I walked into Sweet M’s nursery to go through his dresser drawers; pulling all his too-small clothes out and exchanging them for clothes that actually fit (how is he in size 18 months all ready!?).

M was content going through a box of Christmas stuff I hadn’t stored away into the closet yet (the downside of an old house is literally no storage space: so his closet is where any and all storage occurs). I sat down in the rocking chair I had re-upholstered before his birth to match the crib sheets and crib skirt I had carefully sewn for him. All of these things have obviously sat virtually unused for the past year.

Sweet M crawled up in my lap and lay his head on my shoulder as I rocked him back and forth. Back and forth.

I painted those walls so carefully. I was so certain that that gross old paneling could be painted, regardless of what my husband tried to tell me. And I was right. The paint couldn’t hide the panels that are peeling off, but it still made it look worlds better.

Yellow. Miss H picked a calm, serene, and bohemian-looking yellow. And I was meticulous in painting it with precision and care.

I made black out curtains for the windows in teal material with arrows.

I knew, even then as I spent hours making that room a nursery for our newest addition, that he’d likely never use it. But it was so important to me that he had it.

It was a way for me to show him my love, I suppose, before he was born. A way for me to celebrate that he was finally going to be.

Sweet M began to cover me in kisses, one of his newest favorite activities. I reciprocated those open mouthed, slobbery kisses, relishing every bit of him; so thankful to have this baby in my arms.

I thought of his little brother or sister whom Miss H has fondly dubbed as “Jelly Bean.” There will be no special-made nursery for him or her. Partly because I cannot imagine ever having the time (my sewing machine I put away finally after Sweet M’s birth). And partly because at this point, there is no room to dedicate to just him or her. Which is fine. I am not of the belief that children need their own rooms anyway.

Jelly Bean is no less loved because there will be no meticulous nursery as there was with his or her older siblings. Jelly Bean will be so flooded with love, having older siblings. Being the baby. And having parents who have learned so much before having to parent him or her.

What a lucky baby.

But Sweet M’s nursery.

It makes me happy just walking into it.

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