Baby & Nursery Preparedness on a Budget

Apparently, there is a lot to do to prepare for the birth of your first. Little did I know the path we were on when we first found out we were with child.

Here are a few things I never saw coming and to be honest, slightly blindsided me:

1. I would have to buy stretchy pants-like really insane, elastic stretchy pants.
2. I would be using cocoa butter religiously (and the smell always makes me want cookies) on my ever increasing belly.
3. People would touch my stomach. These are people I don’t know and people I do know and people I wish I didn’t know.
4. I would develop a strange brown “racing stripe” down the center of my stomach.
5. I would actually find baby clothes with tiny animals on them-cute.

However, these are minor things to adjust to compared to preparing a nursery for this tiny lad/lass. I’ve always thought, “Give the kid a dresser drawer to sleep in, some milk to drink and a clean diaper. Call it done.”

But….

…then I start to imagine what kind of a sweet setup I could give to the wee little one, without spending all of their college tuition on a silly room they’ll never remember. (HAH! Like we’re paying for your college! Get a job! Cut your hair!).

With my imaginings, I lay awake at night and plot my grandiose nursery plan. The next morning, I start creating things out of almost nothings. Here’s the beginning of the wall decor for the nursery. I will share a tutorial on this as soon as it’s finished and I make sure the project is actually doable.

The mobile to hang over the crib came after much deliberation between Biceps and I. We settled on a concept-with which I will share soon. All I needed was some stuffing, some felt, some more paper mache know-how, and a few coat hangers.

PS-Is that felt? Well, it is now!

Something you must know about me-I hate curtains. Number one: the cats love to destroy them. Number two: they are stinking expensive. Number three: there are never any store-bought curtains that Biceps and I can agree on.

However, when the dollar spent is low enough, Biceps will like almost anything. Enter cheap, heavy duty drop cloths and a little Rebekah-whimsy. This too will be a tutorial I will share-as soon as it’s done. Patience, grasshopper.

And lastly, I must introduce some sort of wooden feature into this baby’s room. Why? Because it brings warmth, it reminds one of nature and of God’s creation…and it’s also inexpensive.

So, maybe this kid will get more than a dresser drawer to sleep in-but they aren’t going to be spoiled, that’s for sure. We all have to make sacrifices, kiddo. And, if I have to wear stretchy pants that sag down to my knees by the end of the day, you can pretend to like your room. Deal?

What is my Mom thinking? (Installment #3 from Baby Greiman)

My mom is so awkward. I’m not talking about a normal smell-your-armpits awkward.

I’m talking about making everyone and everything in a room feel an intense dread come over them, with no hope of escape awkward.

Yep, that’s her. In this never-before-seen photo, one can clearly see a hint of the awkwardness she’s capable of.

My mom may be a bit old-fashioned. But, I see that as a good thing. Who wants a wild child, table-dancing, booby bead gathering woman for a mom? Not me.

However, this type of old-fashioned behavior is not a welcome thing in the doctor’s office. It just makes everyone wish they were somewhere else. Let me tell you a little story of what happened at her last exam so that you may judge for yourself.

Due to an insurance change, my mom had to switch doctors in the middle of me growing in her belly. She loved her original doctor who was/is kind, sweet and understanding of her bizarre behavior.

The new doctor is also kind but less understanding. (See below).

Doctor: I’m going to leave the room. Go ahead and get undressed and put this robe on.
Mom: Um… Why?
Doctor: We need to do an examination and make sure everything is progressing normally.
Mom: “Everything”-like what?
Doctor: (at this point, he has sighed audibly) We’ll do a breast examination and I want to see what kind of pelvic structure you have.
Mom: I wasn’t mentally prepared for this.
Doctor: Would you like to make another appointment when you are more prepared?
Mom: No, it’s cool. Seriously. Totes. I mean…I just didn’t know. I wasn’t ready. Do I get a treat afterwards? (Dad suddenly found his phone very intriguing).
Doctor: There are some chocolates up front. Are you sure you’re ok?
Mom: Yeah. Totally. I’m great. Really. I’m ready. Alright, I’ll robe it up. This will be awesome.
(The doctor slowly vacates the room).

It got worse from there. She put the robe on backwards, said “ouch” and tried making small talk throughout the examination.

I may be only 2 pounds and have just formed my own eyebrows, but I can recognize abnormal behavior when I hear it. Once again, please pray for me to have a semblance of a normal life when I finally reach the outside world.

Baby G. out.

*read Installment #1 and Installment #2 from Baby G

What is my Mom thinking? (Installment #2 by Baby Greiman)

Dear Readers:

Baby G again, here. I’m past the 20 week mark and I’ve started to hear–a lot. Which means that I’ve started to assimilate some information as to who this woman is carrying me around.

I’ve heard her boisterous laugh that only a few get to hear. She usually tones it down for normal human consumption. But, Dad and I? We hear it all.

This-this-is my mom. She’s weird and eccentric. She runs into walls and corners of countertops. She drops hot coffee all over herself and her response is: “Geez, oh Pete’s”. (The only other participants of that phrase are avid users of denture cream and are pushing 90.)

She also sings at the top of her lungs while on the treadmill and sometimes gets so into it, she falls off the side. When she’s done singing-or just bruised up a bit, she prays. Usually, she starts with her parents, my Dad’s parents, then moves onto the siblings, then their kids, then me (“baby G”) and rounds it out with world events (which unfortunately she mixes up and ends up praying for Nelson Mandela; who she thought was sick and was in fact, dead).

But, you see this side of her. Calm, collected, composed. Holding in farts. Not spitting while talking.

This is instead the reality of my Mom. That’s one of her favorite faces to make, take a picture of and text to loved ones. She cannot grasp the “looking into the camera lens, rather than the front of the phone” concept. And, she is probably both spitting and farting at the time.

However, she has nice teeth. So, there’s that.

I’m just beginning to get to know these two. They started off normal enough-or so she says. She was a tough woman, working for a marketing company, and he was in a loud, unruly rock band. He wouldn’t wear shorts in the summer, she preferred dresses year ’round.

Years have passed and she’s become more comfortable in her skin, she tells me. She doesn’t feel the need to be tough. I’ve heard her cry over stories of animal cruelty and during commercials where soldiers return home. That’s normal.

But, then she cries while watching puppies eat on the Jimmy Fallon show. Makes no sense to me.

I think she’s been encouraged to be more herself (a.k.a. more weird) by that guy on the right.

And, they haven’t wanted to find out if I am a boy or a girl. So, they refer to me as either “Baby G” or “he/she”. Talk about confusing a little brain.

Just wait until I get into the open air and rock their world. Watch out, Mom and Dad. I’ve heard a lot of secrets, weirdness and farting-and I’m not afraid to use this information to my advantage.

Baby G out.

What is my mom thinking?! (A letter from baby Greiman)

Dear Readers (that my mom talks about all the time):

This here is baby Greiman. I may be a boy or I may be a girl-I’m not sure yet. Things haven’t quite developed in my nether regions.

However, what I am sure of is that my mom is crazy. Like seriously, ridiculously out of her mind. Granted, she’s not afforded the brain to body ratio that I currently enjoy (her brain is merely 2% of her body), but she should know better.

Take for example what she put me through yesterday: 1 hour of a modified WOD in Crossfit. Apparently, her doctor said I’m already changing her life. She has to give up handstand push-ups, double-unders and box jumps.
But, I still am sloshed around while hearing muffled grunting. And, I can sense stinky sweat just outside my cozy oasis. Why mom, why?
How about a nice bath, some netflix and a fire going instead?

Then, as if to ironically offset all the hard work-she eats THIS! Are you kidding me?! I would prefer a salad, some lean meat, an avocado, maybe the occasional bowl of yogurt…but THIS?

And, I’ve been informed that this is the guy who supplied this greasy mess. Apparently, he’s going to be my dad. I have to question both of their ability to make sound judgements-not just for themselves, but for me.
After all, I’m subject to whatever it is that they put me through.

Including this nonsense. Every weekend-multiple times a weekend, I endure a super noisy, clanging cacophony of sounds that I’m confounded as to the purpose.
Although, mom seems to really enjoy it. She sways back and forth, stomps her feet and sings really loud. Sometimes she stops only to stare at the aforementioned ‘dad’, which she tells me quietly is “so cute”.

I think I’m doomed to have a strange life with really weird parents. Please pray for me.