The "nursery"

We live in a one-bedroom condo. And we're having a baby. Soon. Like in 6 weeks. And no, we're not moving. It's a fair question, I guess, considering that these days almost no families of three live in a one-bedroom condo. None of the families we run with, at least.

Putting our place on the market and moving just seemed like too much to add to our already busy spring/summer schedule: Dave graduating from law school on May 20, the baby coming June 8 (or somewhere abouts), Dave taking the bar July 24-25 and then both of us having sleep-deprived nervous breakdowns sometime in mid-August.

Plus, I love our neighborhood. A great park, the Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum, Lincoln Park Zoo and the lakefront are all within walking-with-a-stroller distance. And babies are small. Of course their blankets, boppies, bumbas and binkies take up lots of room but do we Americans really need all the space we think we do? Dave was telling me the other day that in 1950, the average American starter home was less than 1,000 square feet. By 2000, it was 2,000 square feet. Two words: suburban sprawl.

We didn't all drive SUVs back then either, although my mom had a sweet, baby blue Buick station wagon by the time I was in kindergarten (1977). Now that was quite a ride. That lean, mean, wood-paneled machine was so big and heavy that one of my greatest childhood fears was losing a limb, or at the least a finger, in one of its monster doors.

The super-size-me phenomenon is one that's been seducing us for awhile. With everyone living in such big houses and driving such big cars, it's no wonder we all think the safest thing to do the second the baby hits the hospital is to run out and buy a minivan. Dave and I are still waiting for our 1996 Honda Accord to die so we can justify buying a new car. With 210,000 miles on the speedometer, it's still going strong.

The "nursery"

So given our 800-foot-square space, our nursery is more like a "baby nook" or "baby alcove" if you're feeling generous. We put a crib next to my side of the bed, hung some pictures of animal mamas and their babies and called it a day. Phew, I'm exhausted. Okay, Dave is exhausted. He's the one who put the crib together and did all the measuring and leveling to make sure the giraffes were even with the monkeys and the elephants.

Framed animals + Dave's stuffed produce friends

Side note: for some reason I've been really into animals this pregnancy. Who knew my inner "Out of Africa" would surface, along with all the progesterone and relaxin?

Don't get me wrong, I've had to resist my own American consumerism during this pregnancy. A few months ago, I was convinced I had to have a certain $1,000 crib from Room and Board. Dave thought spending that much money on a crib was outrageous. Most men (and a few women) would probably agree with him. But this crib is amazing—ultra modern and super adorable. Well worth the money, let me tell you. And if Dave really loved the baby, he would think so, too. Okay, so these days I get a little hysterical.

In the end, we compromised. I agreed that spending that much money on a crib we would only use for a couple years, maybe a couple more if/when we have a second kid, was a little much. So off we went to Ikea, where we found a safe, functional, semi-cute crib for $120. But I'm still holding out for a $1000 dresser from Room and Board. That I can justify by saying the kid has to use it until s/he leaves for college. And by then, we should be living in a two-bedroom condo.