Mom-to-Be: I'm not sure when it happened exactly, but my obsession with perfecting my
future baby's nursery officially turned me from a Nate Berkus wannabe to Howard
Hughes incarnate. At least, that's what my husband would tell you, should you ask
him. (I'd advise against it -- for now, anyway.)
It began innocently enough. Being the Type A'er that I am, I cheerfully started
the nursery when I was five months along. I knew myself; I did not want to be
unprepared. In fact, I was so bound and determined to get it done early that I
vowed to do it alone -- and actually succeeded in putting together an IKEA dresser
without any help. (Dear IKEA: Not an easy feat, pregnant or otherwise!)
But then the decorating became more obsessive, and suddenly I was overly focused
on cleanliness. The wood floor had to be scrubbed, twice. The rug had to be sent
out to be cleaned, but not just by any cleaner -- it had to be a "green" dry cleaner.
The windows had to be washed inside and out. The baby clothes had to be washed
not once, but twice (and I'm debating a third time). And before anyone entered,
I made a rule that shoes must be removed and hands must be sanitized.
So when our friends recently came over with their dog, I panicked. Not wanting
to seem "crazy," I tried to silently deal with it while I watched the dog run
through the nursery and lick its dirty paws while rocking in my ottoman (the
nerve of that pug!). And then someone walked into the nursery with shoes on, and
I began to slowly lose my mind. I knew I was having crazy thoughts when I
debated re-cleaning the rug and basically re-sanitizing everything because the
bottom of a sneaker grazed the carpet. But I couldn't help myself.
I pulled my
husband aside and vented. But I was not met with the sympathy I expected.
He realizes I've become kind of crazy, so he handles me with kid gloves. He told
me that the nursery was not a museum or a shrine and that one day soon it would
be lived in by a baby who would most likely poop all over it.
I know he's
right, but our little talk didn't exactly change my behavior. I'm still
obsessed. But I know I need to get a grip, because we have family coming for
. And I don't want to attack someone with a turkey baster because
they entered their future cousin or grandchild's bedroom. Help!