A Baby House

(getting good use from my plastic table cloth)

I spent a lot of time thinking about having children before I had children.

I wanted to be a mother. And so I sort of acted like I was--in small ways, so I could kind of pretend to have that life, until I actually did. I quietly stashed away darling baby outfits...things I was afraid I'd never find again when the time actually came that I'd need them. I casually perused maternity stores, wondering if everyone in there could tell that I was a fraud. I purchased things like an overpriced-- but darling-- plastic covered fabric table cloth (which is different entirely than a plastic table cloth), with the justification that, "this will be so great when I have kids".

I think I am just a "nester" by nature.

It started, well...really I couldn't say when it started. I have been gathering things for my someday house for as long as I can remember. In high school when other kids my age were asking for Roxy shirts or pookah shelled necklaces for their birthday, I asked for vintage blue Ball jars. I was in the 4-H cooking club when I was 8 or 9. I sewed a 1700's dress for my Senior project (with a lot of help from my mom). I collected picture frames and perused Pottery Barn catalogues for perfect paint colors. I dreamed of baby names, and what my bathtub would look like (it involved the blue Ball jars). In college, when I was sure that my someday house and family were just right around the corner, I pacified myself by making big dinners for my roommates and sewing covers for our unsightly industrial looking pantry shelves.

I was praciticing for the real thing.

And now when I look at my life, it is almost exactly as I imagined it--better really.

I love that I finally get to use my plastic covered table cloth, and no longer have to justify it. I love that when I open my fridge, its full of boiled veggies in tiny chunks, yobaby, and little cups of noodles and peas. I love that there are bright toys everywhere and tiny socks mixed in with mine and Trav's. I love that I can shop for baby clothes or maternity clothes and feel like I belong there. I love answering my front door with a darling child on my hip. I love how people in the grocery store always stop me and tell me how cute my little girl is. I love waking up to sweet little babbles. I love having photos (fianlly) to put up on my walls.

I love that my house is a baby house. Love it.

And so I still dream of my someday house. And I do think about paint colors and sash windows and wood floors and claw-foot tubs.

But mostly think about laughter and running in the grass and late nights in the backyard under strings of lights. I think of being gathered by a fireplace, and songs from the piano, and talent shows on the backyard stage, and tree house clubs and bike rides. Of birthday parties, and mornings in the craft room. Of baking together and movie nights and picking veggies from the garden. Of homework at the kitchen counter, and after school snacks. Of friends over for parties. And guests in the guest room.

And having even more reasons to take photographs to hang on my wall.

And really, what more could I possibly need?