Bethany and I were talking and scheming again about the nursery yesterday. I think that God gave new parents who are extra neurotic like Bethany and me the gift of a nursery because it gives us something firm and concrete to plan in our head. I can’t touch my baby, but I can touch a crib. I can hold onto a baby blanket and socks and diapers. Even though the baby is right there in the room with us and only separated from us by a few inches of flesh, it seems like it’s on another planet, in spite of my not believing there is life on other planets.
Even if there were, I really don’t care. I’m wildly narcissistic and think that most of outer space is a waste of time because even if there is life out there, that life does not directly affect me. Billions of dollars is spent annually so some joker can walk on Mars for 10 minutes, when that money could be spent digging wells for starving people in Ethiopia.
In spite of my views on the cosmos, I do have the idea in my head that my little baby is floating around there in the cosmic abyss and doesn’t actually enter earth until seconds before it slides out of the birth canal.
Because I’m seeing newborns daily right now in the hospital nursery, the reality of our impending birth seems more real to me, but Bethany isn’t around new babies all the time.
We were sitting on the couch yesterday talking, and she looked and me with panic in her eyes. “Jeremy, this baby is coming soon, and we are not ready! The tan cave is a pit. (The tan cave will be transforming into the nursery). We don’t have anything. You need so much for a new baby, and we have nothing!”
We sat together in panic for a few minutes and discussed an immediate trip to Walmart to stock our entire house with all of our baby needs.
Then I thought for a second about the contents of a day in the life of a newborn in the hospital nursery. It sleeps, eats, and poops. That is literally all that kid does. I reasoned with Bethany that as long as we have diapers and her boobs, we’ll be set for at least the first couple weeks.
In that line of thinking, the whole concept of “the perfect nursery” is kind of ridiculous. We’re spending all this time stressing about what the room should look like when our kid won’t even be aware of the room. It can’t even differentiate between colors or see farther than a few feet when it’s first born. But, it’s just so important that we find the perfect color and make sure everything matches. Honestly, this nursery is for us. Again—it’s God’s gift to the neurotic, type A parents who need some sense of control over the pregnancy.