We have the nursery completed.
I honestly have a hard time believing it. Everything that I had in my mind's eye to do in this room... we did. I have never been able to say that about any room in any of our homes ever before... not even a nursery. I'm sure it will continue to change as Baby grows, but - as "done" as a room can get - it's done.
And I am immensely thankful.
That last sentence in itself makes me want to cry. I know I just said I wasn't much of a sentimental blogger, but you get me going on babies... and I'm done for. I am so thankful that we were able to make this room. To give our baby girl a bright, cheerful, clean place to rest and play. (Remember the "before"?) But, also, because the room is for me, too. I've mentioned before that it's very likely Baby will be our last little one, and I am so glad to have this one finished nursery. This one little room that expresses so much of what my mama heart feels about the privelege to nurture and cherish a little soul entrusted to us.
Physically speaking, the room was inspired by the scrap quilt created by my grandma and great-grandma many decades ago now. And also the pink & blue vintage piggy bank that is exactly like the one my sister and I had in our yellow bedroom as little girls. But, emotionally speaking, it is inspired by motherhood... by family... the joy and wonder of having a baby in the house. This baby. Our baby.
I wanted this room to celebrate her. And all the love that surrounds her. And to be a room meant for enjoying her.
Have you ever read the poem, Song for a Fifth Child? That link gives a little of the author's background, and I'm struck by how similar the ages of her children were to our own. I started out in my motherhood as such a "doer". A listmaker. But time and perspective have a way of mellowing us. I'm sure sometimes I take my gypsy ways a bit too far now, but I still so much appreciate the overall reminder the poem gives. It's really the perfect sentiment for Baby's nursery photos.
For our fifth child...
Mother, oh mother, come shake out your cloth!
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
Sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking!
Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby, loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.)
Oh, cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs.
Dust, go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby.
Babies don't keep.