Goldilocks, Ikea and the asshole allen key.

 

Trimester 3. Nesting time.

Setting up a nursery can be a fun and heartwarming experience. For mums-to-be, many hours can be spent researching on Pintrest, gathering trinkets, collecting soft blankets, dangling hangy mobiles and folding insy binsy clothing. Many women get so much joy from doing this and I was one of them. But for such a tiny human you require a lot of stuff… A lot of expensive stuff.

I put our nursery together kind of last minute when I was at 35 weeks… because at 30 weeks… we thought it was a good time to renovate, smash down the walls of our house, expose the possum piss soaked insulation bats and let the wind whip around it’s insides. That horrific smell of possum pee was trapped in my nostrils and followed me everywhere for weeks. It was not a pleasant time for my 30 week pregnant nose. In fact it was not a good time to be renovating. But at the last minute I declared that I wanted the perfect little nest for our new little bird and Mummy wanted a walk in wardrobe and what pregnant Mummy wants, pregnant Mummy gets 😉

So down came the walls and in came the tradies.

The hubby, Tommy and Timmy, Brett Bro and JJ all diligently chipped away and built us a beautiful new wing in our higgledy piggledy house. It was perfect. Teeny tiny but perfect. Not only did we have a cute little nursery – so  little I don’t even know what to do with it once Little birdy has grown out of her cot – but Mummy also now had a great and productive outlet for her OCD via the new walk-in-wardrobe, a fancy-pants ensuite and a new clean laundry.

Buying nursery items for me was confusing and anxiety provoking. I remember going into a baby shop and was almost convinced that I had to buy the $2000 cot or my baby would die in it’s sleep.  Another time, I was again almost convinced to buy the cot that transforms.  Not only is it a bassinet (!) but it transforms into a toddler bed (!) and then a table (!)  and then a V8 motor car (!) and then Optimus Prime!

In the end I got really fed up with everyone’s  opinions and recommendations (including my own) and the fear of cot-killing my baby that I went to Ikea and bought everything from there. I got the cheapest no-nonsense cot. I also bought the matching no-nonsense change table, a set of draws and a few other bits and pieces. Excitedly I brought it all home and skull dragged the no-nonsense flat packs through the house and dumped them onto the nursery floor where I proceeded to stare at them summoning ‘the force’ so that they might miraculously assemble themselves. The force was not with me and I had to take out that cheeky, little arsehole of an allen key and start skimming over stupid instructions. There were  just too many stupid words and stupid graphics to follow on the no-nonsense, easy-to-assemble flat packs that I cracked the shits and gave up. So the stupid flat packs sat there mocking me for another week or so. Lach was in hospital having his hip surgery so he couldn’t do it and in the end I had my Dad assemble the no-nonsense cot and change table one afternoon before Lach returned home. It was clear from all the “you bastards”’ coming from the nursery that day, that the allen key was being a little arsehole for Dad too.

Lach and I put the chest of draws together one rainy morning when he was able to hobble about. On the floor of the nursery, buried in instructions and plastic we showed that arsehole allen key who was boss and built that chest of draws. It took us awhile. It took us a few goes…It almost broke our marriage and made me insane – but we did it. (One of the draws gets stuck on the other when it opens but god damn it that just had to do!)

I thought I was being really economical by saving our precious pennies when I bought the stupid no-nonsense flatpack systems but they almost killed me. Before I even began assembling them I had rage. They beat me. Flat packs should come with  a warning sticker slapped on them “Warning- Assembling this flat pack will probably kill you, lead you to divorce and encourage schizophrenia”.

But with the chest of drawers assembled, the nest was starting to look the part.

 

I’d just purchased a breast feeding chair. I never knew I needed one but pregnant woman are ear bashed by others to get one of these. People persisted on telling me how much time I was going to be spending in it so make sure it’s comfortable. So of course after the repeated ear bashings, I went out looking for a fucking throne made out of the purest of virgin fibres. I drove into town on many occasions, to-ing and fro-ing from furniture shop to furniture shop. And like Goldilocks I was sitting in every chair possible, trying to distinguish whether this one or that one was the most comfortable.  I looked in baby shops, I searched online, I looked on Pintrest to see what all the other mummies had and I even went back to Ikea. I ended up having to drag Lach out to search with me and within 5 minutes of entering the first furniture shop…we had purchased one. On sale of course.

No messing about when shopping with a male. In and out. Done.

And to be honest, I’ve become so excessively lazy (more like physically exhausted) now that I barely use the stupid chair; instead I breastfeed in our bed with my eyes closed.  So I’m glad I didn’t splash out the cash for a throne.

I think in total we (I) spent close to $500 setting up the nursery with furniture, which I think is pretty good considering the initial cots I was being brain-washed into buying were worth $2000 alone. And I think my cheap Swedish stuff looks pretty darn cute and  the magical dream catcher I was lucky enough to be gifted added the perfect finishing touch to our nursery. (https://www.instagram.com/sleepywillowdesigns/?hl=en)

All I wanted now was to get the perfect photo of my big belly before it dropped and popped. Some mothers spend hundreds of dollars on getting professional bump photos and I can now see why. I used to think it was ridiculous seeing all the posey photos of pregnant mothers curled over and caressing their bulging tummies; looking down at in with the purest of love, or nakedly imitating Demi Moore on the cover of Vogue back in the 90’s. (So risque)

So of course I thought I could get the same results with my Iphone.

So one night I had Lach snap away at me as I tried my hardest to look relaxed, attractive and in love with my belly. This turned out to be a ridiculously stupid event. I posed, I lent against walls, I lay on the floor spooning the dog thinking, ‘this is it, this is the pose that will capture the purity and beauty of my pregnancy’. But when I look back at the photographs I just look like an awkward Sponge Bob cuddling a dog with a retarded hand and a pair of rogue slippers.

 

So I kept going. I tried silhouettes…side on poses…I lay on the bed…I lay on the couch…I went outside…but I just wasn’t getting that magazine worthy photograph. I just looked like celestebarber from Instagram. (Look her up if you haven’t already. Hilarious!) https://www.instagram.com/celestebarber/?hl=en

I gave up. Lach was over me. I was getting snitchy at him because he wasn’t enjoying, or even pretending to enjoy, the beautiful moment of capturing my ‘pregnant glow’ as I awkwardly rolled and wiggled my fat body all over the floor in what I thought were ‘alluring poses’. He was huffing and puffing at my instructions, rolling his eyes and he wasn’t taking the photos from the right angle and following my instructions correctly. “No, not like that! That makes my sides look fat. That makes my back look fat! That makes my body look too long. Nope, I look like a tank. Omg”. I snatched the phone back off him and scrolled through what we had. After grumbling to Lach that he was a hopeless photographer; with a few filters, some saturation and cropping, I finally had something I was semi happy with.

 

That would have to do.

A wet haired, shaggy, wife beatin singlet wearin prego mumma grinning down at her big round belly.

 

Do you have any professional or silly bump photos? I’d love to see em.

Upload them to my comments page 🙂

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