I'm not a decorator

One of these first days I TOTALLY intend to post a recipe that I've made.  Really.  It's one of my plans (along with getting a first draft of my novel done by the end of April, going through more things in my office to donate / toss / etc.), but my life is different than it was when ShelleyBakes started.  I still love cooking.  But these days, I'd rather have recipes that come from my childhood or I make up things that utilize what's in my pantry.  (And trust me - you probably don't want those "recipes.")

So here's some more commentary in the meantime ...

I'm going to be 34 years old this year.  I'm not someone who shies away from getting older, in fact - I love birthdays.  I love cake.  I love the idea of getting friends together.  I love any excuse to have a party.  If I would have followed what I think my life should have looked like when I was younger - I would have had kids by now.  Probably two, maybe I would have conned the husband into having a third one, but my childbearing years would be over and I would be knee deep into raising my little brood of hellions.

Somewhere a supreme being is giggling at my presumption.

My husband and I got married when we were 30 and we had some issues getting knocked up.  Right around the time I had given up hope of conceiving, I found out that I was pregnant.  (And promptly put up the bottle of Jamison that I had been eying in new appreciation of Irish whiskey.) And here I sit, six months pregnant and wondering where the hell the time has went and am I ever going to get my home office cleaned out and nursery ready?

And that, folks, is today's blog commentary: I am not a decorator.  I'm not even a cleaner ... I'm a reformed hoarder who still has reporter's notebooks from a career that ended over five years ago.  As I look around my office as I write this I spy: a blue rubber ducky, my Willie Nelson bandana that has been framed and waiting to be hung for about six months, the basil my friend Erin gave me - rooting in a pilsner glass, prenatal vitamins, the face cream my mom-in-law gave me a month ago when I visited her, a spent printer cartridge ... but oh, I have a couple baby outfits hanging up in the closet in my office.  The rest of the baby paraphernalia (crib, bassinet, clothes, swing) are hanging out elsewhere in the house and are still at friends' houses, waiting to be picked up.  The office is waiting to be cleaned out and transformed into my son's little kingdom where he will sleep, dream, wake, poop, and drool. 

I'm so not a decorator.

One of my favorite food bloggers recently welcomed a daughter and posted BEAUTIFUL pictures of her "Up"-inspired nursery.  I think this lady is in her 20s and must have more energy than my knocked up, 33-year-old self.  But then I think of my beloved friend Sharona.  She's 30 and managed to beautifully decorate her son's nursery.  (Then again, she's more creative than I am ... and more organized.  Yup, that's it.)

Every once in awhile, I'll tell my friends and I'll tell my baby bump that I'm almost sorry that I didn't get pregnant in my 20s.  If I was younger and not as curmudgeonly as I am today, that kid would have everything down to the stupidest baby item ever conceived by the Babies 'R Us developers.  I would still like places like Target and the mall.  I would have had a heart attack when my husband suggested that we get rid of cable (although I might have been the one who made that suggestion ...).  Baby's nursery would be themed and haphazardly PERFECT (because even in my 20s, I wasn't obsessed with details ...). 

I sometimes worry that people take my distinct lack of interest in the nursery / all things baby purchase-related as code for me not being excited about the wee mister Mahannah.  That's not true.  I'm at a different place in this world where I'm more obsessed with quality over quantity.  I want to do credit to the moms that raised my husband and I.  In my thought process about how to achieve that, wipe warmers didn't really factor into the equation. 

I'm not a decorator.  I feel bad that the crib is not going to match the rocking chair that my folks are loaning to us for the baby's arrival.  But I love that rocking chair.  My parents have had it for years.  And I really liked the crib ... it was nice.  And it was on sale!  (BONUS!) 

So yeah - not a decorator.  Also, not much of a planner.  But I got heart ... I think I have some common sense.  And when it comes to all the neat things I'll teach my son someday - I think he'll forgive my lack of taste when it comes to anything involving interior design. 

At least I hope so.  And look at it this way.  All of the money I'm saving on baby items - I can put that towards his eventual therapy fund ...