I know I'm barely pregnant (if there is such a thing!) at 13 weeks, but I'm also a planner. A planner and procrastinator. Which means I like to plan months and months in advance, but I won't actually do anything until it is almost too late.
Like my 30th birthday (!!!!) happening in a few months. I've planned it all to perfection. . . in my head. On paper nothing has been done. But that's another story.
Today I want to talk about decoration and the art of making a nursery.
See, The Hubs and I have been having some
fights discussions regarding the use of the third bedroom.
We have a three bedroom house. The Hubs and I live in one, Bjorn lives in one and the third . . . . is a holding pen for crafts, gifts, sewing supplies and paraphernalia, my wedding dress, my work uniforms, the Hubs's suits, every jacket and sweatshirt the Hubs and I own and wear for exactly three weeks in Arizona, the books I can't fit in the huge bookcase in our office, and a guest bed.
So now what? We need the third bedroom for the babe in August. We also need the third bedroom for my parents, whom are bound to visit their grandkiddos even more often now, my in-laws, for the same reason, and our friends and other family, since all family lives out of state.
And what I am to do with all these yards of extra fabric that I swear I will use one day?
The Hubs and I have debated some options. Bjorn gets a futon with a side rail so when peeps come in town, we can instantly turn it into a guest bed. Or he gets a toddler bed and all our fam can sleep on couches or the air bed on the floor. Or we put him right into a full or queen bed with side rails. What to do . . . . what to do. . . .
I wasn't just debating this with The Hubs, though. I was talking about this with friends, other Mommies, co-workers. Getting all their opinions on this minor, silly little decorating issue.
Until finally I realized why I am having such difficulty with this decision.
It has nothing to do with Bjorn growing up and being in a big boy bed. Nothing to do with changing rooms and giving him less baby stuff and more boy stuff.
It has to do with Peanut.
I mean, Bjorn got this awesome room, that we (ahem, I mean, The Hubs) painstakingly taped and surveyed and painted and painted again. We added a fresh wall color and stripes, a chair rail and decor. Everything was perfect and pristine and ready for our first babe.
And now Peanut will get his leftovers. We will move Bjorn to a new room, where, once again, he will get a new bed and a new wall color and new decorations better fitting to a boy who likes cars and football (ball ball). He will get new bedding and new curtains and a Book Nook while Peanut. . . . . Peanut will get Bjorn's leftover room.
We might change some things. I've always wanted new curtains in the nursery. And we will definitely take down Bjorn's name and put up Peanut's. But. . . it will still all have been Bjorn's. The crib, the changing table, the colors. . . . it wasn't done for Peanut.
Am I already giving Peanut all the leftovers and not enough of the good stuff? I know that for the rest of their lives, Bjorn will get things first. He will probably get the new (or at least newly consigned) toys and clothes and cars. Because he will use them first. But is it fair to begin this already by giving Peanut a used room?
Obviously there are good reasons to give Bjorn's room and things to Peanut. Everything is green and brown, neutral colors, so it would work for Peanut. I am not going to buy all new crib bedding and blankets and a new crib and clothes, when Bjorn's will work just fine. Spending that money when it's unnecessary is just wasteful.
But that doesn't mean it makes me feel good to be "green" and recycle Bjorn's things. Instead I just feel guilty. Am I already giving Peanut less than his fair share? And if I having this much of an issue with a room and the things that are in it, how am I going to feel when I can't give Peanut the time and attention I gave Bjorn as a newborn because now I am busy running after a crazed 2 year old?
I have the feeling this room issue is only the beginning of a tug-of-war inside myself. About more than a room. About time and attention and care and fairness. And I don't think there is a right answer.