Monday, May 1:
My stepmom e-mails me:
“Just a quick note to say I was able to get you the crib you wanted. I purchased it through [a store] by you. (I'm so happy I found it!!!!!!!!!!) You can pick it up anytime on May 5th or after . . . . Got to run, hope all is well with you, I love you loads! Love, Mom.”
Yes, those are the actual exclamation marks she wrote.
Holy cow, now I have a crib.
And nowhere to put it.
Weird that I was just talking about this with my husband's mother last night.
When my husband and I moved into our house, we made the largest of the spare bedrooms our “project room.” It has since become a catch-all junk room for unused furniture, flooring yet to be installed, an assortment of lamps, piles of CDs and books, gift wrap, binders full of whatever my husband is filing, etc. A small portion of the room goes to my sewing. Terrible feng shui for creativity, that room.
That room is going to be the baby’s room. Because most of the room is occupied by my husband’s stuff, he won’t let me go in there and clean it -- he thinks I’ll get it so organized that he won’t be able to find anything.
It’s driving me nuts.
But now that there’s a crib in the picture, it may provide an incentive for him to get going on the room.
Er, is it OK that I only e-mailed her a link about the crib based on an ad I saw and never actually got to lay eyes on it, price it and confirm that’s what my husband and I want? And I hope she remembered I prefer the natural finish, not white.