With arms outstretched...

Compartment 14B

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Rush, rush, rush. And, décor for a Lilliputian.

2005-12-09 - 1:23 p.m.

Two days in a row! I know!

Christmas is a-coming, then there’ll be a wedding to go to, then there’s New Year’s, then a couple of potential baby showers, then J is opening his new business, then I go on leave, then Grommet should get here, all within an estimated 8 ½ weeks.

And of course, life continues a-pace with all the holiday celebrations going on, my sister Spider coming into town (and that’s a tale for another day), friend’s birthdays, trying to make time to squeeze in some prenatal yoga and other exercise, J’s hockey, finishing off our prenatal classes, getting a handle on that whole registering thing, getting the room ready for Grommet (which will necessitate jettisoning a lot of accumulated stuff that’s currently shoehorned into the spare room closet), cleaning our place up for the holidays and keeping it clean until the Grom arrives and puts paid to that notion.

While I am fully aware that the first couple of months with a new baby are exhausting, I’m looking forward to the pace of life changing. Not that my day won’t be so packed it’s hard to fit in a shower, but it won’t be a day of dashing hither and thither for multiple commitments. Just one. Big. Commitment.

I fully intend to cocoon with Grommet and throw money at things to make life take care of itself if I find myself overwhelmed. I am a “saver” by nature but this is the sort of thing I scrimp and save for. No chance to cook? Order in. Dust bunnies staging a revolution in the corner of my room? I have no qualms about the idea of hiring someone to come clean my place. Over the next 2 months I fully intend to amass contact info for angelic services that will bring me groceries and food and cleanliness and entertainment on demand.


One thing I find a bit peculiar is people who have to know whether Grommet’s a boy or girl. I’m talking casual acquaintances that try to weasel and wheedle it out of me. Why do they have to know? Why does the receptionist at the gym, for instance, care at all?

What’s even more peculiar to me is the way they try to guess when I tell them we’re not telling people. They eye the Belly to see if I’m “carrying high or low”, they ask me if I had a lot of morning sickness, and they ask me what colour the nursery will be. First of all, there is no statistical correlation between things like morning sickness and carrying position and whether it’s a boy or girl. Second of all, we’re not painting the nursery. We painted the spare room a shade of blue that we both like when we moved into the house and, boy or girl, why would we change it? And (here’s a line to alienate some readers), I loathe wallpaper borders so we’re not friggin’ well hanging some cutesy-themed one just because we’re putting a baby in the room.

You may think me nuts but I’d be more likely to hang posters of the alphabet, star maps, engine diagrams, and floral anatomy, (though maybe not graphic human anatomy as people without skin can look a little scary, even to a non-infant), than Winnie the Pooh in a room destined for a small occupant. Big colourful paintings appeal far more than trendy cartoon characters to me. There will be enough time for my kids to get sucked into pop culture later and ask for Dora the Explorer, or Spongebob, or Barbie icons.

My slave-to-Winnie sister in-law would not approve, but it’s not her kid and, after all, neither of us really has to approve of the other’s child-rearing choices.

Anyway, as I’ve said before, these are some ideas I have but I’m open to changing my mind and adapting once I have a bit more experience as to what kind of things my child – or any small child for that matter, since my experience with the half-pints is admittedly limited – likes.

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