doing something about it the other night.”
“Shut up, Danny,” I say, hanging up on him.
Dear Baby Mac,
I went nursery shopping with my friend, Lori, today. I’ve decided that going into a baby boutique the first time you are pregnant is similar to seeing a mythical creature. It’s an amazing experience. Everything was so teeny, soft, and perfectly wonderful. I wanted to buy it all and bring it home for you. But if I would have done that, it wouldn’t all match, so I started thinking up possible designs for your room.
There are lots of different decor options that are popular right now. And different rules of thought. Some believe a nursery should be bright and stimulating to the baby. Others believe it should be soft and calming. Others go the organic route. And others just want to be on trend. Some of the trends we saw were metallic gold, tribal, rustic, neutral colors, soft colors, bold graphics, vintage, and French inspired.
So basically, anything goes.
I’m also currently obsessing over a soft rose gold chandelier. Your father would die if he saw what it costs, but if they can get it in a smaller (and cheaper) size, I might have to have it.
I also saw a photo of a room that had teeny twinkle lights in the ceiling, similar to what they sometimes do in movie rooms. Considering your dad and I love to look at the stars, it seems perfect. Now I have to find the perfect everything to go with it. I’m leaning toward soft, calming colors.
Do you think you’d like that?
February 3rd
Constant worry.
“Phillip, we have so much to do. Go to the store. Clean the house. Get the food ready.”
“Why don’t you go to the store and I’ll clean?” he suggests.
“Really? You’re offering to clean?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll take care of it.”
“Phillip, your mom is coming. Her house is always spotless. I’ve been sick and we haven’t cleaned since we moved in.”
He kisses me. “You’re not sick; you’re pregnant. And don’t worry. I’ll do the upstairs bathrooms and vacuum the guest bedrooms. It’ll all be good.”
I know Phillip is meticulous and I really don’t want to clean, so I take him up on his offer.
Today, for the first time in weeks, I haven’t felt sick.
And although I should be rejoicing, I’m worried. Worried it might mean something is wrong with our baby.
Is this what being a parent is going to be like? Constant worry?
Now I see why my parents would freak out when I was ten minutes late for curfew.
On the way to the store, I get nauseous again, which is oddly comforting, and causes me to stop for a donut. I sit in the parking lot, slowly savoring it. Lately, a very slowly eaten plain white cake donut has some sort of magical stomach calming power.
Already behind schedule, I know I’m going to have to rush through the grocery store.
But when I arrive, the parking lot is packed.
Apparently, everyone and their mother are shopping for their Super Bowl parties.
At the store by my condo in Nebraska, I knew where everything was and could whip through quickly. This store has a completely different setup.
I think there should be some kind of law that forces all grocery stores to be set up in the same basic order. Instead of running through the store and getting all I need, I’m constantly backtracking.
I get sidetracked in the bakery, buying multiple loaves of bread, muffins, and a couple of cakes. But when I round the corner, the smell of raw fish makes me gag.
And even though I didn’t smell it before, now it doesn’t matter where I go in the store, the scent is overwhelming. I decide I have enough stuff, stand in line forever to pay, and then get the heck out of the store.
When I get home, Phillip helps me unload the groceries.
“Didn’t you get any tortilla chips?” he asks when all the sacks are empty.
I plop onto a barstool and start crying.
“Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know!”
He
“Shut up, Danny,” I say, hanging up on him.
Dear Baby Mac,
I went nursery shopping with my friend, Lori, today. I’ve decided that going into a baby boutique the first time you are pregnant is similar to seeing a mythical creature. It’s an amazing experience. Everything was so teeny, soft, and perfectly wonderful. I wanted to buy it all and bring it home for you. But if I would have done that, it wouldn’t all match, so I started thinking up possible designs for your room.
There are lots of different decor options that are popular right now. And different rules of thought. Some believe a nursery should be bright and stimulating to the baby. Others believe it should be soft and calming. Others go the organic route. And others just want to be on trend. Some of the trends we saw were metallic gold, tribal, rustic, neutral colors, soft colors, bold graphics, vintage, and French inspired.
So basically, anything goes.
I’m also currently obsessing over a soft rose gold chandelier. Your father would die if he saw what it costs, but if they can get it in a smaller (and cheaper) size, I might have to have it.
I also saw a photo of a room that had teeny twinkle lights in the ceiling, similar to what they sometimes do in movie rooms. Considering your dad and I love to look at the stars, it seems perfect. Now I have to find the perfect everything to go with it. I’m leaning toward soft, calming colors.
Do you think you’d like that?
February 3rd
Constant worry.
“Phillip, we have so much to do. Go to the store. Clean the house. Get the food ready.”
“Why don’t you go to the store and I’ll clean?” he suggests.
“Really? You’re offering to clean?”
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll take care of it.”
“Phillip, your mom is coming. Her house is always spotless. I’ve been sick and we haven’t cleaned since we moved in.”
He kisses me. “You’re not sick; you’re pregnant. And don’t worry. I’ll do the upstairs bathrooms and vacuum the guest bedrooms. It’ll all be good.”
I know Phillip is meticulous and I really don’t want to clean, so I take him up on his offer.
Today, for the first time in weeks, I haven’t felt sick.
And although I should be rejoicing, I’m worried. Worried it might mean something is wrong with our baby.
Is this what being a parent is going to be like? Constant worry?
Now I see why my parents would freak out when I was ten minutes late for curfew.
On the way to the store, I get nauseous again, which is oddly comforting, and causes me to stop for a donut. I sit in the parking lot, slowly savoring it. Lately, a very slowly eaten plain white cake donut has some sort of magical stomach calming power.
Already behind schedule, I know I’m going to have to rush through the grocery store.
But when I arrive, the parking lot is packed.
Apparently, everyone and their mother are shopping for their Super Bowl parties.
At the store by my condo in Nebraska, I knew where everything was and could whip through quickly. This store has a completely different setup.
I think there should be some kind of law that forces all grocery stores to be set up in the same basic order. Instead of running through the store and getting all I need, I’m constantly backtracking.
I get sidetracked in the bakery, buying multiple loaves of bread, muffins, and a couple of cakes. But when I round the corner, the smell of raw fish makes me gag.
And even though I didn’t smell it before, now it doesn’t matter where I go in the store, the scent is overwhelming. I decide I have enough stuff, stand in line forever to pay, and then get the heck out of the store.
When I get home, Phillip helps me unload the groceries.
“Didn’t you get any tortilla chips?” he asks when all the sacks are empty.
I plop onto a barstool and start crying.
“Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know!”
He
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