Where the heck are you, Mary Poppins?

Remember how I was just telling you guys what procrastinators my husband and I are? Here's another perfect example. We're just now getting around to trying to find a daycare situation.

People have been telling me to get on it for months. And I have made a few calls. Even been on a couple of tours. But truthfully? The whole idea of leaving my three-month-old daughter with a stranger makes me so sick to my stomach, I find it easier to avoid the subject entirely.

But alas, it really can't be put off any longer. So we're finally being serious about it. And good lord, is it hard.

I dismiss a lot of providers before I'm two minutes into the phone call. Why? Well, some sound too old. Or too cranky. Or too distracted. One lady actually screamed at a kid to shut up in the middle of our conversation.

And others my gut just says, "nuh-uh" to, for no good reason.

A few have made it to the maybe list. In fact, I had almost convinced myself that this one daycare would work for us. It was in our budget. Run by two very nice ladies. And really convenient.

I mean, yeah, the older kids were running around like out-of-control maniacs, and the neighborhood looked an eensy bit shabby, but I didn't see any cockroaches and was reasonably certain no irrevocable harm would come to her there.

Until, that is, I saw the center we toured today. Sure, it's waaaaay out of our price range. But the babies have their own house. And soothing music is piped through the stereo all day. And the women who work there all have that magic, "you can trust me" vibe going on.

Oh yeah, I fell under their spell. Until I left and remembered that it's expensive. Make that really, really expensive. As in, we could send her there, but we'd have to live on hot dogs and  beans and rice for the rest of our lives. And do without cable, new clothes and fun of any sort. Forever.

Luckily, I have other options. There's one lady in particular who I'm hoping  will turn out to be my own personal Mary Poppins. She's got tons of experience. Only watches a few kids at a time. Is  close to home and work. Charges very reasonable rates. And seems super nice.

Unfortunately, now she's got to compete with the magic of the baby house. Hopefully, she can break the enchantment. I seriously hate hot dogs.

At Least She Has a Place To Sleep.

Almost as soon as I found out I was pregnant, Brian and I started thinking about what we wanted to do with the nursery. Thinking being the operative word.

We are probably the world's biggest, most indecisive procrastinators, so to say that it takes us  a long time to complete big projects could be called the understatement of the year.

And the nursery was nothing if not a big project.

So, I think I was about three months pregnant when we started talking about it. First, we thought we'd do something traditional, like Pooh Bear. But that seemed too expected.

Then, we thought we'd do it up like a tropical retreat - in honor of the vacations we'll no longer get to take. But we couldn't find a mural we really liked. Plus, those puppies are expensive.

Finally, I just started flipping through paint chips, and promptly fell in love with the most difficult to match color palette ever. But the result? Is totally worth it.

As you can see, Brian added his artistic touch, both behind the crib and over the closet.

I chose such unexpected  colors (i.e. not pink, brown, or lavender), we couldn't find a single piece of bedding, or curtains, or anything else in the stores that would match them. And believe me, we looked.  Luckily, Grandma Foulkrod is a whiz with the sewing machine.

And as a final touch, we put our most fervent wish for our family's future sanity right above the door.

So, no matter how unprepared we feel to actually fulfill our duties as parents, at least we know that when we put her down to sleep, she'll have a gorgeous place from which to wonder, "who are these people, and when will my real Mommy and Daddy arrive?"

My Baby Needs What?

You know, I'm pretty sure that for most of humanity's existence, babies survived without much more than a basket filled with hay to sleep in, some rags to wear on their butts, their mom's boobs, and maybe, if they were lucky, a corncob or two to play with.

Then, somewhere along the way, we decided babies needed more stuff. Lots more stuff. Stuff to make them smell better. Learn faster. Cry less. Eat more. So much stuff that we had to create Walmart-sized baby superstores, just to put it all in.

Even so, when Brian and I went to start our registry yesterday, I thought I was prepared. Figured I knew what we needed. Was sure that I'd done enough research to be able to whip through the aisles, scanner in hand, and be done before lunch.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

I got my scanner, alright. And marched straight off to the car seat aisle to christen my list. Only to find that there were five different versions of the car seat I wanted. And parked right next to the affordable, top-rated model I had researched was a much cooler looking orange one. With a sun visor. And a level-ly thing in the base. And did I mention it was orange? I do like orange.

Yeah. Our progress pretty much slowed to a crawl at that point.

We did eventually talk ourselves out of the snifty-looking seat, and the souped up travel system we knew wouldn't fit in our car, but not without a lot of debate. Before we knew it, almost an hour had gone by, and we hadn't even made it past the pack n' plays.

Three hours later my head was whirling, and my registry was nowhere near done. Did we need an exersaucer? How is that different from a jumperoo? Obviously, a baby has to have bottles, but did we want the ones that were guaranteed to reduce colic, eliminate gasiness, or teach her french?

Who knew our homes were unsafe enough to warrant an entire aisle of plastic cover gizmos and corner guards and appliance latches and rabid dog tranquilizers?

And can someone please tell me why, when everything I've read tells me that you can't use quilts in cribs, and that those cute little bumpers can contribute to SIDS, everywhere you look there are adorable bedding sets that just scream, "buy me?"

It's enough to make even a shopaholic like me dizzy.

In the end, we admitted defeat and treated ourselves to some yummy BBQ brisket while we waited for the world to stop spinning.

I am humbled. And very glad I can do the rest of my registering online.