Put to Bed

As we have apartment hunted and planned, we’ve accepted that we will have to give up our lovely—and practical—office and trade it in for a nursery. After further contemplation, we realized the nursery would need to do double duty as a guest bedroom—with an actual bed—so guests over the age of 40 wouldn’t be crippled by the Aerobed when they came out to see the baby. The apartment we will rent is not terribly large. I suggested we order a twin bed from Costco and call it a day. I compromised on a double when I realized that this bed could “double” (heh heh) as our kid’s first big-kid bed. Then I was informed that we had to get a queen-sized bed or else our guests would stay in a hotel. Seeing as how having guests stay elsewhere defeats the purpose of a guest bedroom, I gave in. We ordered the bed. But figuring out how to set up this room has caused me way more anxiety than is normal. Chalk it up to nesting syndrome or a high-strung personality, but I was pacing the living room at 5:00 a.m. trying to figure out how I was going to keep my sanity with this seldom-to-be-used, queen-sized bed taking up half of our apartment while trying to care for a baby. I pictured stumbling into the nursery/guest bedroom at two in the morning, climbing over the huge bed to get to the baby in the bassinet (yep, bassinet—no room for a crib) and then tripping over the bed, dropping the baby, and winning The Worst Mother of the Year Award. And where will the changing table go? I made the mistake of voicing this question, which resulted in having someone tell me I didn’t really need a changing table. Well. I’ll admit that I am a first-time mom-to-be who doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing. Still, I really, really, really, really think we need a changing table. So I said so. Then I was told I was wrong. Apparently the floor is perfectly fine and I’m just being fussy. And then there’s the dresser. Now, you can tell me that a baby does not need his or her own little dresser, but I happen to know several women who have already launched shopping for clothes for this little bugger, and we don’t even know the sex yet. So tell me—where will those clothes (and toys!) go? I know that I sound whiny. I mean, poor, poor Ashley. She has to cram a room full of furniture while her dream house is being built out in the country. Waaaaah! But like most moms-to-be, I imagined bringing my little bundle home to a meticulously decorated nursery with flowy curtains and all the necessary furniture--plus the all-important rocking chair . . . not a tiny room with a giant bed in it, a changing table in the bathroom, and a bassinet in the hallway. Is it temporary? Yes. Will I survive? Of course. But those of you who have known me for a long time know that I've always, always been a "nester." Remember the cave I made in the dorm room? And my excessive, year-round use of Christmas lights? Or that fabulous house Nanners and I decorated and lived in? Or my Charlottesville apartment in which even my neighbors commented on decor based only on what they saw walking past my window? Or the Alexandria apartment where I experimented with painting textures and spruced up Target furniture to make the place look nice? And, my favorite yet, the city condo in all its urban-yet-warm-and-inviting glory? (And a major plus is that I don't have to paint the walls back to landlord white.) For all of my feminist leanings and soapbox stances, the truth is this: I make a damn nice home. I can't help but FIX what is ugly or not functional. I fear this nursery/bedroom will be both. The rest of the apartment will be crowded and stark. BUT I think I've earned an unofficial PhD in HGTV by now. Surely, surely there is some way I can make the apartment pleasant and welcoming and warm --without paint or curtain rods . . . . or space.