Welcome baby Kai and the nursery reveal!

Belly bump supporting plate of cookies




Warning: this post may be riddled with typos, run-ons, and an abundance of incoherent ramblings as the author is operating on an average of four to five hours of sleep per night.*





*And people say I should consider that a “good amount of sleep”. (Asses.**)





**Warning: there could be swearing.





Seven weeks ago, I looked like this…






Bump shot leaning from tree






I was prone to hug a tree, pat my belly, and lean back all smiles and wagging ponytail.





And one more BEFORE shot because I miss my eyes before the appearance of dark circles, my hair when I had more than thirty seconds to devote to it, and seeing myself in an outfit sans spit-up.






Bump shot in front of doorThe self-indulgent second BEFORE photo because self-indulgence is in short supply these days.





I was strong, well rested (if I’m already to forget the need to get up to pee forty times per night and the incessant “Holy $&*^!” Charlie Horses that would send me bolting out of bed), and bursting with energy, an intense energy compounded with a raging case of the Nesting Instinct.






Lilo on bare floor

Our house during the installation of the floors.






That surplus of energy was a blessing because JB and I were crazy enough to think it was a bright idea to tackle a remodel during most of my pregnancy, a remodel that only concluded the weekend before I gave birth.  In the final month of let’s-get-this-done, when new paint went up and floors went down, I moved into my mom’s house to avoid toxic fumes and JB moved everything we owned that didn’t come from the kitchen or bathrooms (sadly, those areas will remain circa 1958–and not the cool version of Mid-Century, but the very uncool peach tub, teal sink, electric stove variety– until the budget says otherwise) out of the house and onto the patio in a towering pile reminiscent of an estate sale if people who ran the estate sale stacked the items in an inaccessible heap which led to many an utterance of, “Are you sure you can’t remember where you put my {insert item}?” by me to which JB (the sole lifter/hauler/stacker/hider of items I cherished and missed) would reply, “No,” which was an interesting lesson in “Do I need all this STUFF?” when I did without it for the most part, for an entire month, just fine. But I digress.






Stuffed giraffe nursery






Instead I need to tell you about the weekend before the baby arrived when we moved every item back into the house (well, JB did all the heavy lifting and I made important comments like, “Another six inches to the left.”), and the 80s song Final Countdown kept looping in my head to the point where I actually started humming it until JB pleaded with me to stop.





Safari themed nursery cowhide stuffed giraffe






Which I did, but it WAS a final countdown and I was in an adrenaline-fueled mode that I look back upon now and think, thank goodness, since we had a house’s worth of furniture to arrange, art to hang, and accessories to place before we brought a baby home two days later.






Panda in crib cowhide nursery





It oddly felt like staging a home for a client–except the client was a newborn. I neurotically adjusted the position of furniture, rearranged curios and went as far as polishing the leaves on every Fiddle Leaf Fig and Snake Plant we own–(3 Figs, 1 Snake which adds up to a heck of a lot of leaf polishing) only occasionally stopping to sit down and clutch my cramping stomach until the urge to straighten, shift or reposition something brought me back to my swollen feet.





Mirrored closet doors nursery

The controversial decision to install mirrored closet doors which I stand behind (future post coming soon!) as they nicely reflect the view, the light, and offer the right amount of sleekness for our somewhat modern aesthetic.





I was fueled with enough neurotic compulsion to finish decorating our house before giving birth that the day of I fit in a visit to the lamp store to purchase a piece that makes lamp shades sit straight (yes, this exists). I was obsessed with being READY and getting things DONE. I felt so bad that I’d be leaving a design client mid-remodel that in the half hour before we left for the hospital, I managed to text her photos of paint color selections off my paint chip deck. So there was a lot that I did do, but the thing I didn’t do, that I wanted to do, that I still feel bad about was not sending a blog post.




Rocking chair and giraffe





Not only did I want to check in–which was something I had stopped doing during the last month of the remodel when I had moved out of the house, and thus my office, and therefore my computer was spending some time outdoors on the patio–but to share my thoughts about pregnancy like this one:  not knowing when you’re going into labor is akin to trying to pretend all is well knowing, at any given moment, you will, metaphorically, be pulled into an alley and pummeled. Of course, the hospital is nothing like a seedy alley, or any alley for that matter, but labor will, in some way, beat you up. And anticipating that pain is a weird, unusual thing.






Giraffe lamp nursery





I’d recall scenes in movies where the special agent protagonist, tied to a chair, was repeatedly whipped, yet no matter how many lashings or punches to the head, refused to reveal where the microchip/disc/mass fortune was hidden, never succumbing to the ouch factor. And I thought, I need to channel that badassness. Or, as Evangeline Lilly explained during an interview on Conan, if you can stay in the the center of the pain during labor, that somehow makes it bearable.






Children's books nursery






I discovered she was right. Labor hurt like heck but then it was over. However, because I’d always heard you forget about the pain of childbirth I just assumed the pain stopped there. Next stop: baby bliss. What I hadn’t factored in was the pain of recovering from stitches “down there”, the, as one nurse described it, “foot to the floor” pain of your breasts acclimating to breastfeeding, and sleep deprivation. Oh the sleep deprivation.





DIY changing table nursery

DIY changing table created from the leftover 4 1/4″ tall baseboard–much cheaper than the $80 one offered by Pottery Barn!




During the weeks that followed, I’d often consider how after any other surgery you’re advised to, “Get lots of rest so you recover quickly”–but not after childbirth. Instead, you go home and…no sleep for you. Howling infant, yes. Painful parts. Uh huh. Sore boobs and an intense desire to curl up into a ball and sleep it off so you can fully process what just happened, yes. But sleep. Not so much. And yet you not only must stay awake, but be the sharpest you have ever been as you are now responsible for all sorts of things you may never have done in your life from diaper changing (it’s true; we were diaper changing virgins) to keeping a new life alive.






Nursery safari theme

Doesn’t every nursery need a Willie Nelson painting?




At one point, JB suggested, “The baby is  trying to kill us. He’s wearing us down, weakening us.” And we laughed, and I think I started cry-laughing because I was that insanely tired that it seemed equal parts funny and possibly true. Around the same time, a well-wisher said, “Enjoy every minute,” and I wanted to retort, “Are you crazy? This is hell. I want to fast forward to when he’s four or at least sleeps through the night.” I was in awe of anyone who had more than one kid. I questioned their sanity but was cheered by the thought that it must get better if people willfully have a second, a third, and more. I was so delirious with pain and no sleep, even focusing on television shows I used to love (Anthony Bourdain, I couldn’t follow a thing you said) seemed impossible for the first few days and I thought, this is a lot like being home with the flu. In theory it sounds all nice and cozy, staying home, watching TV, scarfing Trader Joe’s prefab meals, but it’s not nice because you have the flu and feel like crap. Of course I didn’t have the flu, but I did feel like crap. Pain and sleep deprivation will do that to you.






Quirky fox Duralee fabric

The fabric that inspired it all that isn’t actually in the nursery yet. It may or may not become a future valance to accompany a natural grass window treatment.





I told my friend, “Waking up every two hours {to feed a baby} is like enjoying a warm bath and then someone says, ‘Okay, now get out and jump into that kiddie pool of ice water.'” She (mother of a baby, as well, and a toddler) responded, “Right now, you’re being broken in. Like a shoe.”  I wailed back, “This is so hard! I saw you during those first few days after your babies were born. You seemed happy and fine.” Her reply? “I was faking it.” Really? Really. My new theory is everyone had to fake it and lie to you or the human race would come to an abrupt halt.



Felt reindeer head nursery





I began staring at humans (on TV and during the occasional outing to the doctor’s) and contemplating, “Every one of us came out of a female human. There was no other way. Plenty of women have done this. I can do this,” alternated with looking at homeless people and the poor hunchbacked lady I saw leaving the hospital and marveling, “You were someone’s precious little baby once. What happened?” (Hey, I warned you up top there might be some rambling, stream of consciousnesses. Delivered, as promised.)





Willie Nelson signed portrait

My mom painted Willie’s portrait in 2002. My dad who lives in Maui, where Willie lives, had him sign it.




Those were the low-functioning wearing-pajamas-all-day days (although I met a personal goal of never once skipping a shower), when we were deep in the trenches, trying to figure it out and survive. My biggest accomplishment (other than keeping a new life thriving) was cleaning our new hardwood floors on a near daily basis. I ran that Bona-Hardwood mop over the wood like a man in a mid-life crisis polishes his sports car, perhaps because I was house-bound, perhaps because pinned to the sofa during bouts of breastfeeding and pumping, I’d otherwise be forced to stare down the dust bunnies and clumps of dog hair and the prospect of that was more depressing than being house-bound.







Jellycat Hedgehog nursery





Somehow I learned to operate exceptionally fast in two hour increments (the baby is fed, how quickly can I move?) and each morning when I was, inevitably up and watching the sun rise and swore I’d have to fit in a nap or I’d never make it through the day, the moment the sun came up, all systems switched on. Like I was suddenly solar powered. I didn’t even have to yawn. Four hours of sleep and I was somehow charged up, ready for duty. Heck, if I knew I could survive on 5 hours of sleep all this time, just think of the things I could’ve accomplished.





Master bedroom bassinet

The bassinet in our bedroom where, despite the styled nursery, Kai actually sleeps.






I mastered the art of eating with one hand and only occasionally dribbled or dropped food onto Kai’s onesie and when I agreed to my first client meeting–at 8 am, no less. I knew I was somewhat “back”. Being away from your own baby for the first time is rather exhilarating in that whole “How can I miss you if you don’t go away?” kind of way. It felt good to miss him and possibly even better to realize my brain could still come up with design solutions and  thus began my steady crawl back to normalcy.






Kai on faux fur

Baby Kai, days old.




Each day there is progress as Kai and I both seem better, stronger and I feel less like an inebriated person trying to pass as sober (although, the first few work emails I wrote I’d have to read aloud about five times to make sure they made sense). As Kai is sleeping more, I’m squinting less through the lens of sleep deprivation. It’s not the same as before. It’s definitely a new normal. Just when I want to throw myself a pity party, thoughts of Kai going off to kindergarten send me into a tizzy of protectiveness and I thank my lucky stars to be spit up on and even the nights filled with cries that verge on howling (mostly Kai, yuk, yuk) don’t seem so bad and the bliss comes pouring in for a wonderful new soul named Kai. If, per chance, he ever reads this, know for all my complaining, I’m ridiculously giddily, glad you’re here! (PS, Remind me of this when, one day, you ask for an increase in your allowance.)






Kai on sheepskin

Baby Kai, 5 weeks old.





Welcome home, Kai!





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