Feathering the nest
Carrie goes colour crazy trying to set up the nursery.
(Getty Images)
As I hit eight months, I am well into the nesting phase. A phase recognisable by symptoms like the re-arranging of furniture and alphabetising of books and CD’s late at night; and other perfectly normal midnight activities.

And of course decorating the nursery. As this is our first baby, everything has been chosen with the utmost care. 12 trips to the fabric shop before I made that final decision on the fabric for the blinds; which actually seemed like an impulsive decision in comparison to the 23 times I tried out the rocking nursing armchair at Biggie Best before I ordered it. The shop assistants would see me coming and clear the way to the chair and leave me be while I rocked away and tried to ascertain if this was the chair I was looking for.

So now after much deliberation, everything has been ordered, but nothing yet delivered. So while the nursery is still bare we decided to take the opportunity to get it painted. We were away for the weekend, so we could not wait to get back to see our newly painted papyrus-coloured nursery (a colour also not chosen lightly I’ll have you know. Papyrus is neutral, yet warm; inviting, yet cool and airy. It is, without any doubt, perfection in a paint tin).

We arrive home and something is wrong. I try a positive sounding “oh wow!” but it comes out like a scary high pitched shriek. The walls are olive green cross blocked drain grey. There is no doubt about it there is not a single splash of the carefully chosen papyrus anywhere to be seen. My husband is silent. I try to hyperventilate quietly, but when I think about my gorgeous upholstered Biggie Best feeding armchair against a backdrop of boiled-spinach-green cross mourning-turtle-dove-grey I feel faint.

I want to be a cool person and laugh it off with a casual shrug. Just a hil-aaar-ious story to tell at the next dinner party. But I just can’t.  It’s not funny. “Maybe it will grow on us?” My husband tries tentatively. Yeah, like gangrene might grow on us if we were really unlucky, I think grudgingly. “Let’s try and look on the bright side” he tries again, “at least if the baby managed to poo all over the walls we wouldn’t really notice.” Silver lining to every cloud.

How was your nesting experience? Did you go colour crazy?


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