With having my seventh baby — a caboose! — I’m finding that while in many ways the experience is familiar, its still hard.
Last week was surprisingly tough, and momentous. We moved baby Bryson into his own crib. And even though it was definitely a good thing where sleep is concerned (and getting more of it), actually moving him out of our room, as well as immediate crying reach, suddenly seemed so unfeeling.
Added to that was our no-room-at-the-inn problem. Bursting at the seams, Bry was being moved to — our home office.
Being the said caboose, I so wanted to make this a lovely place for him. But reality and timing required that instead of a coordinating nursery with cute wall hangings and throw rugs, he would share a small manly space with my hubby’s papers, computer, and work paraphernalia. I worried about the lack of warm fuzzy toys and pictures surrounding him, and that his possible waking might bother my husband’s early work hours on the computer.
Where was my baby Pottery Barn moment when I needed it?
Instead of whining and wishing, we moved forward (OK, still wishing a bit). My hubby found a sweet, old-fashioned white crib and light-blue bedding, including a hand-stitched quilt of numbered fluffy sheep.
We assembled the crib ensemble in the evening, all of the kids coming and going, “oohing and ahhing,” while we prepared his new corner. Lastly, we added a sound device that played ocean waves for him as white noise.
To read more of Connie’s Blog Post at Motherhood Matters KSL, click here.
