On Foregoing a Nursery

Note: I wrote this post while pregnant with our first child, L. It’s funny to look back on it years later, with three children sleeping upstairs and an overflowing toy bin in the next room. We’ve continued to try and be somewhat minimalist in our philosophy about stuff for kids, even while our lives are what I’d generally call maximalist. Maximum noise. Maximum chaos. Maximum love.

But even when it comes to the mountains of clothes and piles of toys that our kiddos have accumulated, almost all of it has been gifted or thrifted. It turns out that the complicated part of being a minimalist parent is convincing your relatives to not shower you with stuff. Probably, I should write a whole updated post on this, but I thought it might be fun to publish an old post that my thoughts and feelings have changed about–like a little time capsule of a perspective that I used to hold. I’ve added photos after the fact, so the captions are from my perspective now–six and half years in the future, as a mom of three.

I’ve always had this image of bringing a new baby home: how we’d strap him carefully (terrifiedly) into his carseat, and drive gingerly back to our house, wincing at every bump and stoplight. In my imagination he’s asleep, but more likely he’ll be screaming at the top of his lungs. That’s how Chara did her first ride home–can’t expect anything less from the human baby.

We’d scramble inside (a blanket tucked carefully around the carseat to prevent any chill air from getting inside), and the dogs would greet us at the door, tails awag, sniffing the car seat curiously.

And then, we’d lug the carseat into our perfectly set-up nursery–with its smoothly painted walls and matching furniture, every item (all from the same pleasing range of colors) placed carefully in a separate drawer, and start our new lives as parents.

That nursery has been haunting me since I got pregnant. First I couldn’t get anything set up because we hadn’t moved into our new house yet. Then we had to do other, more important remodels first–getting the kitchen into useable shape, and preparing the little cabin out back for visitors. And then we had visitors staying in our guest room, so we weren’t able to turn it into a nursery.

At three months to go until we welcome our little guy into the world, I’ve decided to let the dream nursery (and all of the stress it’s caused me) go. After spending hours discussing paint colors and curtain shades and what type of wood the crib should be, I’ve decided we don’t need any of it.

Babies don’t need painted walls and fancy curtains. They don’t need all of their furniture to match, or their clothes to come from the same color palette. They don’t need new items, fresh from the store.

I think it’s important to note that while Jordan was raised with a mindset eschewing materialism, I wasn’t. My own parents jumped right on the purchasing bandwagon when it came to their kids. I was brought home to a perfectly prepped nursery (and Jenna even had an infamous wipe-warmer, which was never used due to an exploding wipe situation). We had lavish birthdays and Hanukkahs and Christmases with dozens of presents. Whenever we wanted something, we’d go out to the store and get it.

I’m really grateful to have had such a privileged upbringing, and I know there are many kids out there who would give an arm and a leg to have had a childhood like mine. But there were drawbacks to the focus on items. I remember feeling unease about my parents’ ability to support us, and terror that something financially ruinous would happen and we’d end up homeless. Even though my parents didn’t talk about their financial affairs with us, I could feel an occasional strain that made me uneasy.

I always felt weird about birthdays and Christmases–like I should be more grateful for the stuff I was receiving than I actually was. And guilt followed me on every one of our shopping trips–a specter I couldn’t shake–because I felt spoiled and lucky and weird about the whole debacle.

I remember noticing when other kids only had one stuffed animal that they loved above all other toys and took special care of. I’d resolve to pick a favorite and give away all my other ones, but then I could never actually stick to it.

One of the first things I noticed (and liked) about Jordan–even many years after I’d given up picking one stuffed animal to love–was how he carefully tended each of his items. He slept with his baby blanket on his bed each night, wore clothes that had been passed down from previous generations, and spent hours considering the pros and cons of new things before he made purchases.

On one of our first outings together (back in the days when he was still just my boss), he spent three hours deliberating over which rain jacket he should purchase. He only got a new one six years later on our honeymoon, after his previous rain jacket had long since stopped being waterproof.

From long before we decided to actively try for a baby, Jordan and I have known we didn’t want to get sucked into the consumer treadmill that is modern parenting. This is partially because we want our kids to feel financially stable, and for multiple other reasons:

By purchasing all new items (especially items that will be grown out of in only a couple of months), we contribute to the huge amounts of waste that plagues our planet. 13 million tons of clothing are trashed each year (according to my brief google search)–we don’t need to add to that amount by buying a bunch of stylish onesies that our kid will immediately poop all over.

We also want to shift the mindset in our family from objects to experiences. I think it’s pretty clear at this point that having the latest iPhone or the fanciest shirt doesn’t contribute to happiness. While we’ll let our kid make his own decisions regarding how he spends his money down the road, we want to start setting an example now that the important things in life can’t be purchased. This feels especially important in a culture where social media can make you feel like what you have is never enough.

Finally, the more experience we have as adults, the more we realize how far simplicity goes in making life easier. Fewer items means less to organize, care for, and keep track of.

We’ve tried to embody all of these things in how we live our day to day lives. We rarely purchase new clothing (or new anything really), Jordan recently downgraded to a flip phone, and we’ve implemented simplicity-seeking measures to make our lives easier, like assigning one plate, bowl and cup to each person, so that dishes don’t pile up in the sink (quite so much anyway…. They still seem to amass at an alarming rate now that we don’t have a dishwasher).

So it makes sense to apply them to how we parent, as well. And the first step in doing this is not to buy into the concept that babies need a bunch of gear/fancy outfits in order to be happy and healthy.

But it’s hard not to do so, and I completely get the allure. Having a baby is something that many people have envisioned for most of their lives. They have a picture in mind (partially molded by movies and other media–where every nursery is perfect) of how it’s supposed to go.

Advertisers also spend billions of dollars on marketing meant to convince you that you NEED their product–even if it’s something that you might only use once and then never again. Not to mention the items themselves are just really stinkin’ cute, and when you’re pregnant looking at teeny tiny clothing items helps you envision your new life in an exciting way.

These things are part of why it’s taken us so long to abandon the idea. But at last–after reading a well-timed comment on a baby board about how little babies actually need, we’ve decided to align our nursery plans with our values.

We’re going to go simple. No crib until we need one. Just a pack n’ play with a bassinet attachment that we keep next to our bed until he’s six months old. And just the clothing and other items that he absolutely needs, hopefully mostly from thrift stores and yard sales.

We were lucky enough to be gifted bottles, a carseat (from a trusted friend, not expired, no recalls and was never in an accident–but usually this is one item that’s better to get new!), a breast pump, and assorted other things–like a baby bath tub. These things come in a variety of colors (the baby who last used them was a girl, so there’s lots of pink), and many of them aren’t what I would have chosen myself. But I’m okay with that. And I think Baby L will be too.

Baby L’s life may not be Instagram-able, but it will be rich with the things that matter: people who love him and a safe, happy home. Instead of curating an “image” for our son on social media (and trying to seek happiness through material goods), we’ll spend our money on things that actually enrich his life, like a college fund and trips around the country (and world) to see the people and places we love.

And the nesting energy that I would’ve funneled into making a perfect nursery, I can instead channel into getting the house all set–so that we have organized, efficient systems in place before he gets here, which will hopefully make our lives easier.

I also feel a much greater sense of peace at this decision. Before, I was terrified that he’d come early, and that we’d have nothing ready for him. But with this shift in mindset, there isn’t much we need in order to be ready. Me, Jordan and a few select supplies are all he needs. The other stuff we can make happen after the fact if we need to, and I’m alright with that.